


Getting Over the Boy

by iulia_linnea



Series: The Verges and Variations Cycle [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iulia_linnea/pseuds/iulia_linnea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry adjusts to her new position as the people in her life adjust to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolegomenon

**Author's Note:**

> Begins concurrently with the events of Getting to Know the Girl before moving beyond them. Originally posted on 26 October 2003 and completed on 7 November 2003.

Harry had nightmares, but she did not scream. 

After that first night in Severus' suite when he had demanded that Harry and Draco leave open their doors, Harry had never closed hers when she went to sleep. She drew her bed curtains, of course, but the heavy red fabric was not sufficient to absorb the occasional terrified whimper from her. The first time that Snape had heard the girl have her bad dream, he had thought she was under attack, and had rushed to her aid. Now that he realized the "assault" was a nightly tradition, he was no less concerned.

It was on the girl's seventh night in his care that Severus decided to actually look at Harry while she dreamt. He pushed back her bed curtains and examined his charge through the gloomy darkness of the room, pleased that his curse-enhanced sight allowed him to see her clearly. She was not, as he had imagined, curled in a fetal position, but lying stretched out in a backward half-moon, arms over her head. It seemed as if she could not move her feet to carry herself away from her attacker, but was trying to deflect a blow nevertheless. A shudder ran through her not-so-frangible form, and she abruptly sat up. 

"Cedr—"

Severus froze. Harry scrambled about as if looking for her glasses and her wand at the same time, and then appeared to realize that she was awake and out of danger. She stifled a dismayed cry.

"I will _not_ have this dream anymore. I will _not_ have this dream anymore. I will _not_ have this dream anymore," Harry repeated softly in what sounded like a worn personal mantra. 

Gingerly, she wrapped herself up into a sitting ball. 

"You've _got_ to stop being so stupid, you idiot. Only think how he would mock you if he knew!"

_She means me, doesn't she_? Severus wondered, remaining motionless.

Inexplicably, Harry laughed. 

"Funny," she said through a rueful yawn, "how the least safe place in the whole world is your head sometimes." She stretched her arms and legs out in front of herself, inhaled and exhaled slowly a few times, and then said, "I'm sorry, Cedric. I don't suppose you'd mind having _any_ kind of dream, would you? . . . Right. I'm a ridiculous git. You go to sleep, Harry, and _don't_ have this dream again!"

With that, she settled herself under the covers and pulled them up to her shoulder. After a moment, she pulled the covers over her head. A moment more, and her audible breathing caused her chest to rise and fall in a pattern that indicated regular sleep.

Severus allowed himself to relax without making a sound. He could just imagine the unpleasant scene that would follow if Harry discovered him "lurking" next to her bed and told Black about it. The Potions master was certain no one would believe he was there out of concern. He let the drapery in his hand fall to meet the other curtain, and crept from the room.

Pouring himself a glass of Remus' Lagavulin, he returned to his chair by the fire in the sitting room. He looked at his glass, and then abruptly toasted the air. 

"To Cedric Diggory," he said, bitterly. _How many other children will die before . . . . And she blames herself, does she_? 

The wizard felt sad—sad, impressed, nostalgic, and unsettled. He was sad because he was certain that Harry was afraid of him, and he now found that he did not wish her to be so any longer.

_Perverse bastard—and you put in so much effort there, too._

But after what had happened to the brat, he was being forced by his own observational abilities to reevaluate what he knew of young Potter.

Rubbing a fingertip over the rim of his glass, Severus considered Harry's self-control; it was impressive. He was beginning to accept that she did possess the potential to become a strong legilimans; although, he wasn't particularly interested in teaching her to hone her skill—especially after the events of last year.

_The brat did have to violate my privacy, didn't he? Didn't she?_ he corrected himself. 

It was still difficult keeping the pronouns straight. He sighed. 

His nostalgia prompted anger, but guilt, as well. No matter how much he had hated James, he could not deny that the man had been . . . brave, and Harry shared this characteristic. Severus had always envied how easily courage had seemed to come to James, but perhaps he had been mistaken about that, as he had been about so many other things.

_Perhaps James' courage had more to do with his arrogance than anything else_. "To hating James," Severus said, toasting the air again. 

He snorted into his Scotch. No matter what he saw in the man's child, it was difficult to find anything to like about his old tormentor.

_My old tormentor_. 

No little boy should have to experience his father as a bully, as well Severus knew; although, it had been mortification more than any real consideration of Harry's feelings that had led to his having placed his worst memory in the pensieve. At the time, he had thought Harry viewing his father's cruelty would be good for him.

_I am a fool_. 

Finding himself in an honest, if unsettled, mood, Severus tried to consider his own fear. He found that he was not yet drunk enough for that kind of navel-gazing, and chose not to pour himself another drink. Instead, he made a space for his empty glass on the little fireside table near his chair—the chipped clay tea service, _two_ cups, and the copy of _Quidditch Weekly_ taking up more space than he was used to sharing—and came to a decision: he would try not to be scared anymore, too. 

"Dark masters, evil compatriots, incompetent students, and teenage girls be damned!"

Teenage girls. Teenage _girl_. Teenage girl living in close quarters.

_Perhaps just one more Scotch_ , Severus thought. "After all, it _was_ a gift."


	2. Chapter One: Cracking the Eggshells

When Severus awoke the next morning, it was to the feel of a soft, warm blanket stretched over his aching limbs and the smell of bacon frying. He was not hung over to the point that he felt nauseated, which was good; pork on top of an unsteady stomach was an experience he cared never to repeat. As he actually did feel hungry, he stretched through the resultant pain of falling into an ill-advised, inebriated slumber on a piece of furniture not designed for that purpose and stood up, catching the blanket as he did so and folding it over his chair.

It then occurred to him that the house elves had never yet popped around to his private rooms to prepare him a fry-up, which meant . . . .

"Potter," Snape said, walking into his kitchen.

Harry jumped about a foot into the air and spun on him, wielding a spatula as if it were a short blade. 

"Oh, Professor Snape," she said, immediately lowering the utensil and turning to the stove. "Good morning."

Severus was becoming tired of the lack of eye contact, the lack of . . . _spine_ being displayed by the girl during her waking hours. "Just what is it that you think you are doing?"

"I'm, um, cooking, Sir."

"I can see that, Potter. Why you are cooking?"

Harry flipped bacon out of the pan and onto a cloth-covered plate. 

"How do you take your eggs, Sir?"

"Potter, are you _ignoring_ me?"

"Of course, not, but I've got to fry the eggs before the grease starts to spatter. You _do_ eat eggs, don't you?"

The Potions master was flabbergasted. "Yes, I eat eggs. I eat properly cooked eggs, eggs prepared by house elves, eggs prepared by house elves and sent to the Great Hall—but that is beside the point. I ask you again," he said, taking a deep breath because he felt he was beginning to ramble, "why are _you_ cooking my eggs?"

In a frighteningly exact mimic of her professor's voice, Harry said, "'Miss Potter, if you are going to hide yourself away in my quarters, you _will_ find a way to make yourself useful. No special privileges will be extended to you, no matter the cause of your surprising lack of spirit.'"

"Oh, dear gods! Did you truly take that to imply I meant to treat you as my personal servant?" Snape asked, shocked enough to overlook Harry's cheek.

"I wasn't sure what you were implying, but I'm used to cooking. I thought you might be hungry this morning, and _I_ was hungry, so . . . ."

"So you decided _to_ cook."

"Yes," the girl said, flipping two over-hard eggs out of the pan.

"Where did you procure the supplies to cook, Miss Potter?"

Harry flushed uncomfortably. "I asked Dobby for them, Sir."

_Even the house elves like you. Of course_. "Make the next two over-easy, and do not burn my toast," Severus ordered as he walked out of the kitchen and down the corridor to his room. _If the brat is going to go to all this trouble, I suppose I should make myself pres_ —

"Do you want your tomatoes fried?" called the girl.

"Do not _dare_ abuse those tomatoes in that way!" the professor yelled, storming back to the kitchen. "These tomatoes are Yellow Perfections, Potter, heirloom fruit. They are _not_ intended for frying. If your idea of cooking is anything like your potion-making, you will kill us both. _Give_ me that spatula—"

"Whaddya mean, 'heirlooms'?" Harry asked, looking both confused and annoyed. "They don't _look_ old!"

~*~

_Great. I'm an idiot. Why'd I have to ask how old they were_? thought Harry as she ate her breakfast. The professor had sliced the tomatoes—which Harry had learned were _recently_ grown from seeds that were not widely available anymore—and sprinkled a little extra virgin olive oil and fresh basil on them. They were quite good with the eggs, and Harry found she liked the olive oil. At the Dursley's, she had only ever used corn oil. _It wouldn't have tasted nice on tomatoes_.

Harry was no longer feeling bold. When she'd woken up this morning and found Snape sleeping restlessly in the sitting room, she had felt as though she ought to do something to make up for what must be a nightmare for her professor—having to babysit his least-favorite person. Ever since waking up and finding herself on Snape's bed to Madame Pomfrey's shriek of dismay, Harry had been very wary around the Potions master, half-afraid he might actually try and kill her after all. But she had to admit to herself that Snape had been completely decent. She had heard him checking up on her while she was in the infirmary being tested by the medi-wizards from St. Mungo's; he had coached her on how to protect herself before that awful press conference; he had allowed her to be alone with Sirius and Remus when they brought her back down to his suite a few days later; and he had let her hide in her room—which was quite the best she had ever slept in—and get used to . . . the Change. Of course, she was not used to it, and she did not intend to _become_ used to it, but, as she was not certain how long it was going to take before Professor Dumbledore and the others figured out a way to switch her back to a him, it was nice to know that the professor was going to give her some privacy.

_And he hasn't even made fun of me, not once_!

"Potter," Snape said.

Harry looked at the wizard. He did not appear irritated, though his expression was not exactly peaceful, either.

"Yes Sir?"

"We should discuss our . . . living arrangements."

"Oh. Yes, Sir?"

"And your attitude. I understand that it must be unnerving to find yourself . . . thus," he said with a flick of his wrist, "but you cannot go about the dungeons as if you were terrified that I might eat your brains for breakfast."

"I'm not! I cooked today, didn't I? I, um, I came out this morning and found you asleep, and I, um, I—"

"You covered me with a blanket. Yes. I thank you, though I do not need a nurse-maid."

Harry's cheeks turned the color of fresh borscht. "You looked cold."

"I see. In any case, I do not wish you to feel as though you must act as my dogsbody. I am not one of your distressing relatives."

Severus saw temper flare in Harry's eyes, and he snorted into his cup of surprisingly good tea. "You can't possibly mean to tell me I've just offended you. I know how they treated you."

"Yeah, I mean, yes, that's true, but I'd rather you didn't insult my family, _Sir_."

Severus stared at the girl in disbelief. _How you feel loyalty for those . . . people is beyond_ —

"Well, I _do_ feel loyalty toward them, and I don't want—"

"POTTER!" Snape roared. "YOU WILL STAY _OUT_ OF MY THOUGHTS!"

"I didn't do it on purpose, but you were loud!" _Oh, gods. Am_ I _loud? Can he hear_ my _thoughts? Oh, Merlin, that would be_ bad!

Severus snorted in an almost-laugh. " _I_ was thinking too loudly, Potter?" Abruptly, the man peered over his plate at Harry. "Does this happen to you all of the time?"

"What? . . . Eavesdropping?" Harry asked, attempting to remain calm in her fear that the professor might know everything that went on in her head since her body had changed.

For if he _could_ hear—if he _knew_ —then the embarrassment _would_ kill her as Lucius Malfoy had not.

_No, no, no, no, no_ . . . . 

"Yes."

"No."

"No, what?"

"No, Sir."

"No, that—I did not mean for— _Harry_ ," Snape said, taking a deep breath, "do you often find yourself hearing other people's thoughts?"

"Not often—usually just when I'm near someone who's thinking hard."

"And whenever would _that_ be?"

"Hey!"

A faint smirk took over the corner of Severus' mouth. Harry gaped.

"Yes, Potter, upon occasion, I have been known to smile."

" _Don't_ you laugh at me!"

"Ah, now _there_ is the Gryffindor cheek to which I am used. . . . So, does this fit of domesticity and temper indicate that you are prepared to leave your bedroom and join your friends upstairs?"

Harry's face twisted in horror, and Severus found that he actually regretted his words.

"Potter, I am not evicting you."

The girl settled back into the cushion of her chair, but retained her air of alarm.

"I realize that you have had a great shock, but that is not an excuse to disregard your studies. If you do not wish to go . . . home, and you are not yet ready to join the other students in your classes, then your classes will have to come to you."

"How do you mean, Sir?"

"Professor McGonagall has spoken to your other teachers, and they have agreed to provide you with independent study projects to keep you current with their syllabi. She hoped that you would be amenable to having Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley bring you—"

"No! Please, Sir—I don't want anyone to see me like this!"

Snape arched an enquiring eyebrow at the girl. "Like what, precisely? You were not turned into an _ogre_ , Potter. You are a young woman. Surely you have nothing against young women?"

Harry hung her head, but did not respond. _He won't understand. He couldn't possibly understand! I'm not a girl! I'm not! This is just another thing to add to the list of why I'm a freak—a big, gay_ , girl- _of-prophecy freak_ —

In a low and almost gentle tone of voice, though Harry knew it could not possibly be intentional, Snape asked, "Did it never occur to you, Miss Potter, that, were you to remain female—and that _is_ a possibility with which you may be required to cope—it would be less awkward for you to enjoy . . . male companionship?"

Harry drew in a sudden breath. "If I'm going to stay out of _your_ head—"

"I shall endeavor to remain out of yours, provided, of course, that you respond to my questions and do not hide important information from me."

"Well, _that_ was a very thorough response."

"Yours, however, was not."

"That's very personal, Professor."

"Yes, it is."

The unlikely interlocutors stared at each other for a moment.

"No, it didn't."

"Are you aware that the headmaster, the St. Mungo medi-wizards, and Madame Pomfrey have no current idea how to reverse your . . . condition? That, in fact, as near as they can determine, any attempt to restore you to your male self would most likely kill you?"

"No one's been that direct with me, Sir," Harry said. 

She did not sound surprised.

_Of course not_. "No one knows for certain, Potter, but it would be wise for you to try and accept that you may have to remain . . . as you are."

"As a girl."

"Yes."

_I can't even look at myself naked without feeling like I'm going to get in trouble. How can I possibly stay this way?_

"I'm sure you'll become more comfortable with yourself in time."

"You said you weren't going to—"

"I do not have to read your mind to know that you are having adjustment issues, Potter. Who would not, given the circumstances?"

Harry had the grace to look abashed.

"If you and I are going to share living space, I feel we might attempt to . . . not assume the worst about one another in our dealings. Does that seem like something you could manage?"

"I guess so. It's just hard to . . . um—"

"Say what you mean, Potter."

"This is just too weird! You're being _nice_ to me, and you've always been such a git!"

"A 'git', Potter? Your vocabulary is appalling. Your failure to understand my motivations toward you is not surprising, though—"

"I saw how awful Dad was to you! I don't have to be a genius to understand that you hate me because of him."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I believe that will be the last time you interrupt me."

Harry did not flinch. "I hope that this is the last time you have to tell me why you hate me for something I didn't do."

"I do not hate you."

"Your impression of someone who does hate me is pretty convincing—Sir."

_I expect that it is_ , Severus thought, remembering his thoughts of the previous night. He did not want Harry to be afraid of him, and he also did not think that he could continue to resent the brat while living with her. They both had preconceived notions about each other. Perhaps it was time to let go of them. _In order to do that, it will be necessary to be . . . somewhat more civil_. "It was pleasant to eat in relative peace this morning, Harry. Thank you for making breakfast."

Harry was completely unprepared for Snape's response. "You're welcome. . . . Are we going to talk about your hating me?"

"Do you wish to?"

"Well, no—but I don't want you to—"

"Did you enjoy the Yellow Perfections?" Severus attempted again.

Harry seemed surprised by the question for a moment, but then a smile of understanding spread over her face.

_Realization dawns, however slowly_ , Severus thought, trying not to smile back at the girl.

"Yes, thank you for showing me how to serve them."

"Cookery and potion-making _do_ have some connection, you know."

"The way Aunt Petunia taught me to cook, I would never have guessed that, sir."

_That is more than clear from your class performance, Potter_. "Perhaps, as I believe it shall now be one of your chores to cook—as long as you intend to remain sequestered—you will learn some new techniques."

"Perhaps," Harry said, making an effort to match her professor's level of formality. "At least I know what to do with an egg."

"So you say."

"Hey!"

This time, Severus did permit himself a slight smile, and Potter's reaction was most gratifying.


	3. Chapter Two: Reception, Perception, and Recollection

Harry stood in one of the receiving rooms of the Zabini estate, a massive chamber of viridian marble floors and columns, heavy silk furniture, dramatic tapestries, and the scent of rot that subtly snaked its way into the nose through the floral notes emanating from dried petals laid in ancient pots that were set on several gleaming, rosewood tables. She felt out of place in such grand and eerie surroundings, but remained still and alert. 

She knew she was appropriately dressed for this meeting in a black fur cape over a long crimson dress with a fitted bodice and flared skirt. The formality of her clothing belied the fact that she was wearing neat dragon-hide boots to mid-thigh, had an enchanted short sword in a back harness under her cloak, and knives in fore-arm and thigh holsters. On either side of her dress, she had hidden pockets without bottoms to provide access to her blades. Her wand was concealed in her braid, spelled not to slip out of it. If an attempt was made by one of Blaise's relatives to attack her, she would be prepared to defend herself.

"Miss Potter?" a sepulchral voice enquired from the doorway to the room. 

It belonged to an aged-looking man in the Zabini livery who was a good foot taller than most men.

_Well_ , you're _not human_. "Yes?"

"My mistress bids me tell you that she is unable to accommodate your request for an audience; however, she can provide you with the whereabouts of her son if you would like them.

_That is why I came_ , Harry thought.

"Of course," said the servant.

Harry tried, and was almost successful, to not display the surprise she felt. _I've got to be more careful_.

"Indeed. Assumption is a vice for the weak," the servant replied, smiling and displaying sharp, yellowish teeth. 

Harry almost shudder to note the bits of flesh that clung to them.

"I have taken the liberty of writing down Mr. Blaise Zabini's direction," he said, holding out a crisp white card to the young Auror-in-training.

"Thank you for the lesson," Harry said, bowing in polite acknowledgment of having received wisdom from a vampire. "I will not insult your efforts by touching that card."

"Ah, an excellent and diplomatic reply. You must have studied with an Old One."

"I had the privilege of a brief apprenticeship to un padrone dell'anima."

"But you do not speak il nome del padrone."

"No. I do not."

"That is wise."

"Would you be good enough to provide me with the information your mistress was so gracious as to bestow?"

"Of course. You may find my young master at the home of his friend, Draco Malfoy."

"Please be good enough to express my gratitude to Mrs. Zabini for her indulgence of my curiosity."

"I shall. Would you care for some refreshment before your departure?"

"No, I thank you."

"You are most welcome. Come, I shall escort you to the entrance hall."

~*~

Harry floo'd from the massive foyer of the Zabini household to the Three Broomsticks, rather than attempting to travel to Draco's home directly. One did not drop in on the Malfoys uninvited if one was interested in a state of continued existence, particularly not since the war had begun in earnest.

Rosmerta was not behind the bar, but the server who was indicated the back of the establishment with a nod of her head in Harry's direction. The young woman walked quickly through the teeming hostelry, ignoring the stares of some of the patrons. No one she knew was present, and, with her hood up, she looked forbiddingly anonymous as she passed through the thick wooden door that led to the owner's rooms. It was an attitude she had perfected in the two and a half years since graduating from Hogwarts and beginning her Auror training.

"Rosmerta?"

"Join us in the parlor, my dear."

The publican, Percy Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Severus Snape were seated around a medium-sized, circular table, poring over a map. Harry thought it might be plans to the Malfoy estate, but she could not be certain.

"Well?" demanded Percy.

"I was told by the vampiric butler that Blaise was with Draco," she responded, glaring at Snape.

He ignored the reproof in her eyes. You _are the one who wanted to have dealings with a vampire, Potter_. "What specific words were said?"

"'You may find my young master at the home of his friend, Draco Malfoy'."

Snape considered this. "That is a remarkably clear answer for Tagliaferro to have given you. He was most likely telling you the truth."

"How old _is_ he?" Harry asked Severus.

"Your master never taught you to gauge the age of a vampire?" her old professor asked with a bitter edge to his voice.

"My training was in other areas."

Rosmerta laughed and patted one of the Potion master's hands lightly as she gazed tranquilly at Harry. "Tagliaferro was a smith about three hundred, seventeen years ago. He is a very loyal retainer of the Zabini household."

"An old one, I'd say."

"Oh, not their oldest, I would imagine," Rosmerta said enigmatically.

Harry reflected that she did not particularly care for the other witch.

Percy, who looked, as always, as though he needed to be someplace else, said, "Right. Do we think we can get Blaise out of there?" 

Neville grunted.

"We _know_ your opinion, Longbottom," Percy sniffed.

Harry figured that Neville would have been half-way to bed with his girlfriend by now but for this recent development, and wished she had not mentioned Blaise to Percy at all. But it _was_ odd of Blaise to have left the novitiate without a word to anyone—even Ron— _even_ on their break from training—and Percy, whose job it was to oversee the admistrative aspects of the program for the rapid development of new Aurors and medi-wizards, had been disturbed to find that Apprentice Zabini was unexpectedly absent when he had arrived earlier in the day bearing packages from the Burrow.

"Blaise is always sneaking off to see Malfoy. I think this is no different from any other of those times."

"I agree," Severus and Harry said together, startling themselves.

They looked at each other in surprise, but quickly turned their attention to the others present.

"Perhaps we should send an owl saying that our Harry is longing for a visit," Rosmerta proposed.

"I'm not certain that Draco would see me at his home."

Severus responded, "He will see me."

"Yes, he will. And while you're there, so will Narcissa. Do you think that's wise?"

"She has no reason to suspect me, Harry."

"No?"

"No."

" _No_. You're not going to put yourself forward into danger when I can easily arrange to see Blaise and Draco in London. Blaise has been trying to arrange a meeting for the three of us for some time, and—"

"And you think you can trust Zabini, do you?" Severus demanded, standing up abruptly.

Harry raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Do you really believe that you can trust the _Widow_ Malfoy?"

Rosmerta leaned back into her chair as if watching a play, Percy looked surprised, and Neville looked back and forth between his old nemesis and his old hero. It was he who spoke first.

"Right. It's the hols, so we're not expecting to see Zabini for a few more days. I'm not sure what will happen to him for violating Moody's rules about consorting with the enemy, but I don't think Blaise is in danger—however," Neville said, holding up an authoritative hand to prevent interruption, "we _do_ need to know for sure what he's up to, which means that _Harry_ will have to find out for us." He turned to Snape, who was seething. "Professor, I think you know that your presence at Malfoy Manor would not be to the Order's advantage."

"I concur, Longbottom," Percy said. "Father has enough to do without having to put down resurfacing rumors about you, Sir."

That was true. Since Dumbledore had seized control of the Ministry and revealed those working for Voldemort—thanks in large part to Percy's rather effective spying mission—the new Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley, had been having a difficult time repairing the damage done by his predecessor, Cornelius Fudge. Magical Britain was in an uproar of fear and distrust, and it had not yet seen fit to rethink its opinion of Severus Snape. Unfortunately, some of his former associates among the Death Eaters _had_ , which put the Potions master into the tedious position of having to remain in the same one. Severus did not take well to inactivity. 

"I don't like it. If we are incorrect—"

"Then I may have some danger to wade through, but I _am_ trained to do it—"

"You are _in_ training to do it, you mean," Snape said.

The doubt in Snape's tone infuriated Harry. "Does anyone _else_ in this room doubt my ability to protect myself?" she asked, rather more calmly than she felt.

"No," replied Percy and Neville.

"Rosmerta?"

The witch smiled widely. "You're very . . . capable, Ree, but no one is ever truly prepared to traverse all perils. It wouldn't do to become overconfident."

Harry snorted. "Right. I've been hearing _that_ sentiment expressed for the last nine years," she said to Snape. "Haven't I?" She spoke again quickly before he could interrupt her. "Percy, tell your father that I'll report at the next meeting of the Order. Neville, please let Alastor know I will not be returning to the novitiate for a few days."

Neville nodded his assent. None of the newest Aurors under the guidance and training of Alastor Moody did anything without telling him. He had come out of retirement when Harry and her friends had graduated to help with the emergency development of new squads in the face of the growing threat from Voldemort, and he liked to know exactly what his trainees were doing at all times. In the past two years, the Aurors had learned that it was much healthier to simply tell Moody what their plans were, rather than to "compel" the old wizard to investigate their lives for himself.

The only time period for which Harry had failed to account for her whereabouts to Alastor was the summer following graduation when she had apprenticed herself to the Old One for assistance with controlling the surges of power that she had been plagued with since the Change. The vampire with whom she had studied made it a requisite condition that his name and whereabouts remain a secret before he had accepted the young woman as his novice. This vexed Moody to no end, but Harry would never speak of her old master to her new one.

"Good night then," Percy said.

Neville simply inclined his head. He rarely spoke now unless he had to do it, but his eyes never stopped examining his surroundings. Harry had begun to wonder if the wizard's sight had been magically enhanced, but had not asked him for fear of insulting her friend.

"Good night," she said, turning to leave the room.

"Sleep well," the other woman called cheerfully. "Severus, would you care to remain?"

Harry stiffened, but did not stop walking.

"And you, gentleman, must you rush off back to _your_ duties?" the publican asked smoothly.

Harry stormed out of the pub, her blood boiling so hot that she did not hear Snape follow her out of it. She had to admit it: she hated Rosmerta and her "hospitable" ways. When Severus finally managed to put a hand on Harry's shoulder to stop her moving forward, she whirled on him with her short sword drawn before she realized it was the Potions master.

"I see you have not forgotten the importance of physical defense," Snape said dryly, though his eyes glittered darkly as he held his wand in a fighting stance and looked quite prepared to hex his former student into a gelatinous mass of pain. 

Neither he nor Harry lowered their weapons.

Unbidden, the memory of facing Snape in what had become a real fight came to the young woman's mind. It had happened in the second spring meeting of Dumbledore's Dueling Club, a combination of Dumbledore's Army and the official Dueling Club that had been resurrected under the tenure of Gilderoy Lockhart. She and Professor Snape had "co-taught" the the club beginning in her sixth year at Hogwarts. 

_I hope this isn't going to be as harrowing as_ that _was_ , the witch thought, regarding the wizard warily.


	4. Chapter Three: The Myth of the Butterbeer Panacea

"Ron, we've got to _do_ something!" Hermione yelled over Parvati and Lavender's heads. 

The other girls had grabbed Hermione when the curses had begun to fly, and now she was having a difficult time of it getting free.

"What's the matter, Granger? Don't you enjoy a little entertainment now and then?" Millicent Bulstrode asked, roughly pulling the two frightened girls off the indignant one.

"You leave her alone!" Ron demanded from the other side of the table.

Millicent smirked. "You're the one who's unable to protect his girlfriend, Weasley."

"Bulstrode, that's _enough_. We can't let them kill each other!" Hermione hissed.

"Oh, I don't know. What's one less Gryffindor?" Pansy Parkinson asked sweetly from behind Hermione, her wand raised.

Parkinson made a satisfactory thud as her unconscious body smacked the ground. Ginny Weasley stood angrily where the other girl had just been threatening her brother's girlfriend. 

"What's one less Slytherin?" she spat, her eyes shining with anger.

Millicent smiled, taking in the smaller girl's curves with a roguish sweep of her eye. "Nice one, Weasley!"

Ginny blushed uncomfortably, and quickly turned her attention back to the fight upon the tables that had been pushed together in the Great Hall as a presentation platform. 

She and the other students were so fascinated by the horror of Harry Potter and Professor Snape actually dueling that no one noticed as Neville surreptitiously pocketed Parkinson's wand.

"Stand down, Potter!"

"Why? So you can hex me to death? I don't think so."

Snape dodged a chair that Harry floated quickly toward his head. 

" _Stupefy_!" he commanded, but his opponent dove to the table top and rolled the Potions master off his feet.

They both lost their wands.

Cho Chang shrieked, "Oh, now she's done it!"

And it did look as though Harry might be in trouble. Professor Snape was a good seven inches taller than the girl, and much stronger, but somehow, she managed to struggle free of him. With a roar of frustrated rage, Snape lunged again at Harry, whose right hand came up, flat of it to the professor, and then it seemed as if an unseen force hurled him across the Great Hall into the wall where the point holders were kept.

"One hundred points from Gryffindor for laying hands on a teacher!" Snape screamed.

Ron, indignant, yelled, "She never touched you with her hands!"

Harry, who looked completely stunned, rallied as her friends began to remonstrate with Snape. Turning to look down at him, she declared, "one hundred and _fifty_ points from Slytherin for attacking a student!"

To everyone's shock, the points were removed from the jar of each house. 

"Potter! _What_ did you—"

The sound of clapping cut off the words of their professor, and the students turned to see Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, Sinistra, Hooch, and Dumbledore seated at the Head Table. They had not been there when the meeting of Dumbledore's Dueling Club had been called to order, and it seemed odd to find them approbative of what had just occurred. Everyone stared.

_Oh_ , no. _I'm going to be expelled for_ sure _this time_.

The headmaster spoke. "Well, Professor Snape, Miss Potter, that was an excellent example of what _not_ to do during a formalized duel, but a realistic portrayal of what one might expect in a _true_ fight. One hundred points to Gryffindor—and one hundred, fifty points to Slytherin, of course—for your efforts to . . . illuminate the students."

Harry was so relieved that she thought she might be sick.

Minerva McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. "I am _surprised_ at both of you—"

_Not as surprised as_ I _am_ , thought Severus.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat softly.

"Your teaching methods are _most_ unorthodox," McGonagall finished with a displeased glare at Snape.

Severus successfully fought the urge to laugh. He was shaken by his behavior, and at a complete loss to understand it. 

Snape was back on his feet and had retrieved his wand, which many of the students noted was not lowered. Harry had also retrieved her wand. She looked quite prepared to begin fighting all over again. No one really believed that their duel had been for show, but almost all of the students forgot about the very recent unpleasantness at Professor Dumbledore's next words.

"As this lesson was very thorough, and it's still quite early in the day, I suggest that you all run into Hogsmeade until dinner. Surely it is too beautiful a day to waste it by studying."

The hall cleared fast enough, save for Neville—who was standing over Parkinson's prone form—Ron, Hermione, Harry, and, of course, Professor Snape.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, take yourselves off this instant!" Professor McGonagall ordered.

They reluctantly did, but only as far as the other side of the doors to the Great Hall.

"Ah, Mr. Longbottom," Professor Flitwick said, walking toward the boy. "What have we here?"

While Neville quietly explained the situation to Flitwick, who began helping the boy levitate Pansy to the infirmary, Madame Hooch and Professor Sinistra—both smirking madly—left the hall. They shooed Ron and Hermione all the way into Hogsmeade. This left Harry, Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore alone in stony silence.

"How is it possible that she can take _points_?" demanded Snape.

McGonagall goggled at him. "Severus, you attacked the girl, and _that_ is your concern?"

Snape said nothing, but Harry interjected, "No! He didn't attack me. I, uh, I attacked him first." She hung her head.

Severus stared at her as if she had sprouted an extra one.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I believe it would be fair to say that the attack was mutual, Harry."

"That does not excuse Severus' behavior, Albus!"

"Nor Harry's, Minerva."

"No," Severus and Harry said as one, starling themselves.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Do you know, I _did_ tell Harry that she was to be as a co-teacher of the club. I expect that was enough for Hogwarts. You're a professor, now, Harry. What do you think of that?"

_Great. Something_ else _to add to my list: former boy-turned-girl of prophecy becomes violent_ teaching _freak—destiny unknown, embarrassment assured. Merlin has a sick sense of humor_. 

The adrenaline rush on which the girl had been running petered out just then, and she found herself sliding nervelessly to the floor.

Severus caught her before her body met the stones. "Harry, are you hurt? Did I hurt you?"

"No, you'd never hurt me," the girl said before passing out.

Minerva shoved Severus roughly aside and levitated Harry into the air. "It's a little late for you to be concerned about _that_ , you idiot!"

She left the two men alone together, and took Harry to the Infirmary.

"Well," said Albus, looking darkly at his friend.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorrow is the least of what you will feel should you ever truly harm one of my students, _Professor_ Snape," Dumbledore said coldly.

Severus felt the older wizard's words vibrate through his bones and hoped that they would not splinter. He knew, however, that if Albus Dumbledore wanted to crack every bone in his body and rip each of them out of it through his blistered skin, he could manage it as easily as he could suck a lemon sherbert into nothingness.

"I shall tender my resignation immediately, Headmaster."

"Frog balls, my boy! You shall do no such thing," Albus said in a light-hearted tone. "You shall simply collect Miss Potter from the Infirmary and take her into Hogsmeade," the man said, smiling at his friend's confusion. "It would do the students good to see the two of you looking companionable, and, at the very least, you owe her a butterbeer."

_Where_ did _you develop the notion that carbohydrate is a cure-all_?


	5. Chapter Four: The Purity of Thought

"So, _are_ you planning to hex me to death, Professor Snape?" asked Harry, lowering her blade but a fraction.

Snape hoped that his opponent would put the blush forming on his cheeks down to exertion and . . . chill. He well remembered the unfortunate second meeting of the dueling club. 

"You drew on _me_ , Potter. I am merely defending myself."

"Yes, you're good at that," she challenged, mentally picturing a certain publican on the other end of her blade. "I'll sheath my weapon if you'll retire your wand."

Neither of them moved.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"You might, considering the fact that you have been my co-teacher, have not been my student for two years, have been my roommate off and on for the past four, and have threatened my life on _more_ than one occasion, call me Severus."

"I hardly think that's called for, Sir. We wouldn't want to encourage familiarity in the ranks," Harry spat.

"I'm certain you would find Charles Weasley in agreement with you," Severus said tartly, tucking his wand up his sleeve.

_Charlie has nothing to do with this_! Harry thought angrily. "Do you think that's wise?" she asked, indicating Snape's secreted wand.

"You would never harm me."

"You seem certain of that," the young woman said, as, unbidden, the right side of her mouth curved upward. "In light of my past behavior, how can you be?"

Severus raised his arms in a yielding gesture. "It is the predictability of Gryffindor honor, you see. It will not permit you to injure an unarmed man. As I have put away my wand, I am now quite harmless."

Harry chuckled wryly. "I think we both realize _that's_ not true."

A slow, suggestive smile spread across Severus' face.

Harry tried to remember how to breathe.

Severus congratulated himself again for the years of employing harsh expressions in his dealings with his students. The resultant emotional isolation he had experienced had been as nothing if one of his rare smiles could so befuddle Harry.

_I never get used to how delicious you look when I do this to you_ , he thought. 

He took a step toward the young Auror, wondering how close she would allow him to approach her before . . . .

"Taking a chance, aren't you?" Harry asked, somewhat faintly.

"Am I?" he asked, surprising himself, though that feeling did not reach his expression.

Suddenly, the witch's mood changed. She backed up a step, sheathed her sword, and spun on her heel toward Hogwarts.

"Are you going _home_ , Harry?" Snape asked in an insinuating way. _Right, now you really_ are _being an ass_.

She slammed her feet into the snow. "Yes—if that's all right with you, _Professor_. I need to write a letter, and I don't want to go back to Grimmauld to do so."

" _Harry_?" Severus asked, taking a step closer to the girl. _Severus, what_ are _you doing_?

"Yes?" she asked, not turning to face him.

"Harry?" Snape asked again in a lower tone, taking another step toward her. _I don't know. Shut up_!

Harry swallowed and closed her eyes. "Yes?" she almost whispered.

"Harry?" Severus breathed wheedlingly into her hair. _Severus, Severus, Severus._

Harry could no longer speak, so she turned around and found herself pressed against Snape. She was close enough to him now that she could discern his scent. She had to fight with herself to prevent the tang of bay and the sharpness of bergamot from bewildering her senses further than even anger and jealousy had done.

A soft, begloved finger slid over her right ear and traced the line of her jaw, eventually coming to rest under her chin. 

When Harry was at last able to lift her gaze to his, she found she was looking into a pair of dark, penetrating, fathomless eyes. _What_ is _it, Severus_? she asked silently in partial capitulation, knowing that the Potions master had won whatever game they were playing, but determined not to give him a complete victory by speaking his name aloud.

Severus was exultant. "I shall escort you back to the castle," he told her simply while extending his arm.

Harry took it because she was certain that she would fall if she did not. 

Rallying somewhat after they had walked awhile through new-fallen snow, she observed, "I didn't realize that serpents were charming in winter, Professor Snape."

Severus snorted softly. "I'm just looking for warmth, Harry."

_He can't_ possibly _know what he does to me with his voice_ , she thought, repeating it as a prayer against mortification and remorse, and fervently wishing for Charlie. _I wouldn't be having these . . . feelings if Snitch were here. I wouldn't! I_ won't.

When they returned to their rooms, Snape excused himself to work in his laboratory, and Harry went immediately to her desk in their sitting room to compose herself and two letters.

The cup of tea that had materialized by her left elbow was still warm when she finally noticed it. It smelled of bergamot, and reminded Harry that Severus was a mocking bastard—a mocking bastard who kept Earl Grey on hand in case she might have occasion to come home.

_Gods, but I love you_ , she thought, tears sliding into her tea.

From the doorway, Severus watched Harry cry into her teacup. 

_Missing Weasley, no doubt. I shouldn't have teased her like that, but I can't stand the thought of her being anywhere near Draco. He'll only abuse her._

And no man liked to think of the woman he . . . desired spending any kind of time in the company of the succulence that was Blaise Zabini.

Death _to all red heads_ , thought Snape, returning to his work with vigor. _Perhaps I'll consult with Merta on that score._

Severus knew that he would _definitely_ be visiting Rosmerta if Harry remained in his dungeons longer than it took her to compose a letter. His certainty of this fact made him feel slightly soiled.


	6. Chapter Five: With a Little Help from Her Friends

Harry was soaking in a bath in a copious quantity of suds. "I am never leaving this room again, Hermione. Never!" the girl said fiercely underneath the large sculpted merman that rose up from the water and frolicked with a lascivious grin against the wall.

Hermione sighed. It was ten weeks into the term, and Harry had only just emerged from the dungeons a month ago; however, the events of this afternoon threatened to send the Girl-Who-Lived back underground for good.

"I'm certain that no one noticed, Har— _Ree_ ," she soothed.

"Oh, gods, Hermione! How can you stand it? It . . . it's disgusting! It's awful! . . . It hurts!"

Hermione combed her fingers soothingly through her friend's curls and over her temples, and tried to help her relax. "Ree, it's part of _nature_. I can teach you some spells to deal with the pain, and show you the . . . supplies you'll need to handle the rest of it. It's going to be okay, I _promise_."

"How? Everyone must know—it was everywhere."

It was toward the end of the lunch period as people were beginning to file out of the hall when Harry had clutched her side and leaned into the table. Ron and Hermione had been scared that something truly bad was happening. They had helped her to stand up so that they could get her to the Infirmary, and it was then that Hermione had noticed the blood where her friend had been sitting. 

So had Ron.

~*~

Harry had gone pale as she stared at the bench, and then turned and rushed from the hall with Hermione following.

"What _is_ the trouble, Mr. Weasley?" demanded Snape. 

He was approaching rapidly, and Ron knew that there was only one thing for it. He flipped up the back of his robes with a flourish and sat down in Harry's place. 

_Eeeew. Eeeew. Eeeew._ "Sir?" he managed to ask in some semblance of calm as Snape arrived to loom over him.

"Is there some problem here, Mr. Weasley?"

"Not at all, Sir."

Snape glared. "Then why, pray, have Misses Potter and Granger fled the hall?"

"Oh, Harry just forgot her Divination textbook is all, and . . . and Hermione went with her to get it to keep her company."

Seamus, Colin, Parvati, and Neville watched Professor Snape's reaction to Ron's "story" apprehensively, all thinking the same thing: _Was that the_ best _you could do, Weasley_? None of them knew what had been wrong with Harry, of course, but they were all certain that they could have lied more effectively on her behalf.

"Yeah, that's right, professor!" Neville spoke unexpectedly. "Harry's always forgetting things for Professor Trewlawney's class."

_I would forget things, as well_ , Snape thought, glaring at Longbottom in disbelief, but the boy determinedly maintained unblinking eye contact. 

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and a distinctive, coppery scent pervaded the air.

_Blood_ , Severus realized. The sudden thought that Harry might be injured flashed through his mind, but the miserable expression on Ronald Weasley's face put paid to that idea. The professor found himself experiencing something of the boy's mortification, himself, but kept his face impassive.

"Um, Professor?" Ron asked. 

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?"

"I'll tell Harry that she shouldn't run, if you like."

The remaining Gryffindors looked warily between Snape and Ron.

Severus blasted the students with a harsh look. "If you are quite finished, I expect that you should be getting to your next classes."

The teenagers needed no further encouragement.

Severus turned to stride back toward the high table, surreptitiously securing his wand. Casually, he pivoted on his right foot to face Ron, whose face was as red as his hair, and who remained firmly seated. " _Mr. Weasley_."

"Yes, Sir?" Ron asked, shakily. _Oh, gods, I_ can't _get up. He'll_ see _it_! he thought in desperation.

Severus almost choked on his repressed laughter as he saw the terror in Ron's eyes. " _Scourgify_!"

The boy straightened up in surprise.

Severus replaced his wand. "Do be good enough to inform Professor Trelawney that Miss Potter will be absent from class today, as she is feeling . . . unwell. Further, kindly urge the professor _not_ to eat the turtle soup being sent to her rooms on her customary tray. Tell her," Severus said, eyes sparkling with malice, "that to eat it might prove _fatal_."

Ron, who by now had realized that he had fallen asleep and was having a dream in which Professor Severus Snape was a decent human being—and also that he was clean—replied, "It's unfortunate that _Harry_ didn't get that warning, Sir."

"Such things are bound to occur in an institution that pays its house elves," replied the professor querulously.

It would not do to be perceived as kind, after all.

~*~

"Oh, _no_ , Severus. You're _not_ to say a word about it to the girl!" Poppy said.

"Thank Merlin you agree with me, but . . . is there anything I can . . . I _should_ do?"

Poppy laughed. "You were always such a sensitive boy."

Severus bridled.

Poppy giggled.

Severus glared.

"Don't you look at me like that, young man. _I_ know where all your moles are!"

The Potions master struggled to gather up his dignity as he felt himself flush from sole to crown. It was not _his_ fault that Lucius Malfoy had been as inept in Potions as Longbottom. His old friend's failure to pay attention in class had almost cost both boys their skins on more than one occasion. He had frequently found himself wishing that _Narcissa_ had been his Potions partner, despite his low opinion of Lucius' taste for her as an "appropriate" companion. " _Madame Pomfrey_ —"

"Oh, don't take on so, my boy. You're sweet to worry so about Ree—"

"I assure you that I am only seeking to discharge my duties toward the girl in a responsible manner."

"Of course you are, and a fine job of it you've done, too. I'm very proud of you."

Secretly pleased, as he always was when Poppy praised him, Severus adjusted his tone. "You believe I should ignore the recent . . . development?"

"My dear, in the case of an adolescent female, one should ignore _all_ development!"

~*~

"Come _on_ , Ree! You'll get all pruney. You need to get out, now."

"Oh, Hermione, I just don't think that I can do this anymore."

"Don't be ridiculous. You . . . you've survived He-Who— _Voldemort_! What's a bit of blood?"

"It's not just the blood! It's the breasts, and the . . . rest of it! Every time I get dressed, I feel as if I'm peeping!"

Hermione blushed. "Well, so what? Isn't that a tremendous boy fantasy— _peeping_?"

"It isn't for _me_."

"You never wanted to look at naked girls?" Hermione asked, perplexed.

Harry flushed and allowed herself to sink under the bubbles. She dimly heard her friend shrieking something through the water.

"Sweet Merlin! It's true!"

"What's true?" Harry demanded, surfacing.

"You're _gay_ , Ree."

"I _know_ that, Hermione. _Wait_ —how do _you_ know? Oh, gods—does Ron know? Please, Hermione, please promise me that you won't tell Ron!" 

The other girl winced. "Actually, there's no need for that . . . ."

"What do you _mean_?"

"Well, just that it was _Ron_ who suggested it to me."

"It's really too bad, isn't it?" Myrtle asked as the soapy girl's eyes rolled back into her head.

Hermione grunted in response. _No. Too bad would be if Ree were still snogging Malfoy_.

Getting the limp Seeker out of the massive bathtub was quite a chore, but Myrtle moaned encouragement to Hermione throughout her ordeal.


	7. Chapter Six: A Consummation Devoutly to Be Wished

" _Alohamora_!" Blaise said, pointing his wand at the door to his chamber.

Viktor Krum stepped across the threshold, wand raised, sharp eyes brightening as his gaze swept across the room to the tableau of Blaise Zabini and Ree Potter clasped together on the large, disheveled bed.

There was not _much_ blood.

"Vhat happened here?"

Blaise indicated a smoke-blackened goblet that was on a small table in the middle of the room. The rank stench of polyjuice emanated from it. Krum whispered an incantation and pointed his wand at the cup, and then drew his arm back with a gasp of revulsion.

"Eediot! Vhy vould you—"

"Just tell me, is she going to be all right? Was it poisoned? She hasn't woken up since returning to her own form, and—"

"Shut up, cousin. You distract me," Viktor spat. "Hold up one of her arms."

Blaise did so, and Viktor pinched two fingers together over the inside of the unconscious girl's wrist. A droplet of blood welled up into the air and hung there.

" _Lumos Constituere_!" the young man hissed.

The droplet shuddered, appeared to spin in place, and then evaporated, leaving a reddish spray that ran back into Viktor's wand as a bloody glow. The glow traveled to his fingertips, and then flashed orange and faded as it flowed up the young man's wand arm.

" _Eediot_! Vhy vould you allow her to take such a potion? It contains no less than _three_ addictive herbs, and some form of psychotropic mold. Vas this _your_ idea, Little Light?"

"Merlin, no one's called me that since—"

"SILENCE! You vhil say nothing but the responses to vhat I have asked, you fatuous slattern. Tell me who did this to her. Tell me now, vhillingly, or I shall show you _another_ trick."

Blaise shuddered. It dawned on him that contacting Viktor might not have been the best idea, but feeling Ree quiver and sweat as she lay atop him, he knew that it had not been his worst. "She chose to play Draco's game, Viktor. No one forced her."

"But you didn't tell her the rules, not _all_ of them, did you?"

"What?"

"Come now, cousin, when has a Malfoy ever been totally forthcoming in his amorous dealings? Move," Viktor insisted, gently holding Ree's head as Blaise scooted out from under her, pulling his dark auburn locks free of the girl's clammy flesh as he did so. "And you say you are her friend. You tell me, 'I love her'. You are despicable."

Blaise found his robe, but said nothing. _I can't explain this, not even to myself_ , he thought. A tear threatened to fall from his eye, but before he could wipe it away, Viktor's hand grabbed his wrist.

"If that's remorse, I can use it," he said, pressing a phial to Blaise's face. "Cry it all out, Little Light. Do some _good_ this day."

~*~

_It was good, wasn't it? He was everything I thought he would be, wasn't she? Certainly, the experience was worthy enough currency to accept in exchange of the life-debt she owed me, wasn't it?_ Draco asked, himself, pulling at his hair.

"Then why do I feel . . . emptier? lonelier? filthier than I've ever been in my life?" he cried, sliding down the door to his bedroom. "Oh, gods, Harry, oh, gods . . . I'm so sorry, so sorry. I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't mean to make it . . . be like that. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know what I was doing." 

He melted as a puddle of shame and dread and woe into the thick silver carpet underneath himself, unable to do anything but hiccough a wracked breath through his sobs when it was most needed.

_I can't love her. I can't hate her. What does that leave for me to live on?_

~*~

Black rage threatened to boil out of Ron's heart and run out of his ears. He wanted to smash something. No, to _kill_ something— _someone. I'm coming for you, Malfoy_ , he promised the absent man.

Hermione came into the common area of Novitiate One, to where Ron had fled after Viktor Krum had brought Ree home. She froze in the doorframe, afraid to disturb her . . . boyfriend. She loved Ronald Weasley with a dedication that nothing could overmaster. But she had not been certain if he felt the same, for he had never told her. And his reaction to Ree when Viktor had brought her home . . . . A tear slid down her cheek. _It doesn't matter. He's with me. If Ree wanted him—it doesn't matter_!

"Is that you, Mione?" Ron asked hoarsely.

"Yes."

"What is it? Is Harry—"

Hermione quickly wiped the tear away. "Oh, she'll be . . . she's . . . ."

"Why are you crying?" Ron asked, crossing the room and taking Hermione into the shelter of his arms.

"Couldn't I be crying over what happened?" she asked, a little sharpness infecting her tone.

"You're not, though."

"You love her, don't you?"

Ron pulled away from Hermione slightly, astonished. "Of course I love Harry, Hermione!"

The young woman tried to struggle free of Ron's tightening grip. "Fine. I understand. I won't get in—"

"For the smartest witch ever, you really are the silliest widgeon, you know that?"

"How dare you speak—" the medi-witch-in-training began, only to be interrupted by the steadfast press of Ron's mouth against her own.

He broke the kiss first. "I love Harry because she's my best friend, Hermione, but _you're_ the girl whose eyelashes I'm always going to feel tickle my knees when she looks at me. You're my _strength_. You're the woman I love— _you_ , and no other."

Alastor Moody, passing by in the corridor and unaware, as yet, of the more serious drama involving one of his novices, found himself consciously forgetting his own injunction against fraternization as he happened to glance into the common room at the two young lovers. _It's not like the two of them won't marry, after all. By the great fiery handbaskets of the Four Great Hells_ , I'd _marry the boy if I were her after such a speech_!

~*~

Harry lay, mended and clean and warm, in her cell at the novitiate. The potions in her system made it impossible to weave her thoughts through the loom of reason. The only threads she could grasp concerned Charlie—and a boy who was nothing like him at all.

" _How can I act more like a girl should?_ " she remembered she had once asked Charlie.

" _Well, you might begin by catching a boy when he's throwing himself at you_."

_You catch things with your hands_ , Harry thought.

She could still feel _Charlie's_ massaging the soreness out of her thigh after a particularly nasty Quidditch accident, except the pleasure of this memory was intermingled with the pain of prying fingers piercing the same flesh—or was it? In her thoughts, the body she remembered possessing was harder than her own, but smaller. 

_But how is that possible_?

She could not remember, but she knew that she had chosen it, maybe even wanted it, until . . . was that Draco's face twisted in rage? 

_Did I hurt you, Draco_? "My fault—thought it would help you—"

"Shh, now. You need to sleep," a low, rumbling voice poured over her inner vision.

"Viktor?"

"Yes, Ree. I have brought you home."

"No! Severus _can't_ know. He'll kill him."

_I wonder if Hermione knows where her friend calls home_? Viktor thought. _Blaise certainly hasn't realized it_. "Ve are at the novitiate, not Hogwarts, Ree."

"Don't speak of it. Don't say—"

"Do not exercise yourself. I have taken care of everything."

"Blaise?"

"Him, too," the wizard said darkly, thinking with distaste about the object lesson he had given his relative. _Perhaps I have cured him of playing games with that Malfoy filth_ , he thought.

But he did not truly believe it.

~*~

Sirius and Remus flanked Ree at the long table of the Order's next meeting, three days after Krum had brought her home from going after Zabini. They were not certain what had happened to the young woman, but when they had seen the hollow look with which she had favored Zabini as he had come in with Longbottom, they had drawn the conclusion that he had been involved in whatever it was. The two men had silently agreed by glance that they would "mingle" after the meeting—take a walk around back of the novitiate, perhaps.

_It might do to invite Severus along_ , thought Remus, gazing at Blaise as if he were prey.

The young Auror sat as far away from Viktor as he could, forcing his hand to avoid touching the long, newly silvered streaks that adorned his hair. He felt his heart push up into his tonsils when Professor Snape took a chair to his right. _What shall we discuss at the meeting today? What shall we_ —

Severus took one look at Ree and stood up again abruptly. "Mr. Zabini, a word with you, please."

"You can have him soon enough, Snape," ground out Alastor Moody storming into the room just ahead of Dumbledore. "My novitiate lost two trainees last night," he announced.

"Silence, please," Albus urged against the resultant confusion. "Ree, please make your report."

All eyes turned to the girl. "I am no longer bound to Draco Malfoy in any way," she said in a quiet, clear voice. "As I violated Master Moody's requirements in freeing myself of the life-debt, I accept his censure."

"That is _completely_ unacceptable!" Neville growled before anyone else could speak.

"How did you—" Sirius began to ask, but Remus covered his partner's hand before the man could finish his question.

Severus' eyes never left Zabini's face.

Albus cleared his throat. "Ree, do you no longer wish to train to be an Auror?"

"That is beside the point," she answered quickly.

"Mr. Zabini?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Do _you_ no longer wish to be an Auror?"

"I would like to continue to serve the Order and the Ministry however I may, Sir."

"Well, then, Alastor, perhaps—"

" _No_ , Albus. I won't train the irresponsible—or the stupid."

"When we decided to look into a way to take out the Death Eaters, you _told_ us that we were supposed to use our discretion in gathering information that might be of use. You _told_ us to find out as much about the Malfoys as we could. Ree _did_ that. Blaise _helped_ her. Just because you disapprove of their methods—"

"Don't presume to tell _me_ about their methods, boy!"

"I vould say that 'help' is a subjective term in this case, Neville," Viktor interjected.

Albus looked at Snape, who was drilling a hole through Zabini's forehead with his eyes. "That is _enough_ , Severus. This situation does not concern us."

"The health and well being of _every_ member of the Order should be our concern, should it not be?" the Potions master asked pointedly.

He still had not gotten over his irritation at Moody's assertion at an earlier meeting that a binding spell would be an excellent means of ridding the world of anyone bearing the Dark Mark.

"Despite Master Moody's objections to his trainees' behavior, I do not feel that they deserve to be drummed out. Surely, we can reach a compromise that would satisfy everyone—"

"Cozening the brats will get them _killed_ , Albus. I will not allow my apprentices to—"

"Could we move on, please?" asked Remus, who was clasping Sirius' hand so tightly under the table that both men thought bones might be breaking soon.

"I will _not_ move on. We need to deal with this situa—"

"Yes, let's _deal_ with the situation," Harry said, interrupting Master Moody. "I can't speak for Blaise, but I've had enough of pointless meetings and 'training' sessions and arbitrary dicta. I'm _done_. . . . Have fun fighting evil without me."

Her words were still ringing in everyone's ears as the ozone-laced air that indicated a recent apparation assaulted their nostrils.

~*~

When he found her where he knew she would be some hours later, he asked, "What do you see?"

"A pale little girl with wispy black curls and bright green eyes."

"What is she doing?"

"Tickling her father's nose with a spray of flowers."

"Isn't Severus allergic to flowers, Ree?"

"I don't know, Albus. I expect he'd bear a great deal toward the collection of potion ingredients."

The headmaster placed his hands on the young woman's shoulders and squeezed tenderly. "I have failed you, child, and I am most sorry for it."

Harry leaned back into the enfolding paternal warmth of Dumbledore's beard. "I forgive you."

She saw the headmaster's tears slide through the reflection of her displayed desires and felt guilty for having accepted his unnecessary apology. She was no pardoner. But, patience fled and hope forgotten, forgiveness was the only thing she had to give him. And it was what he most _needed_.

They stood together for awhile, ignoring each other's tears, as Harry joined her husband and daughter in the field of flowers, and Albus eavesdropped on himself as he lost an argument to the woman who held his heart.

Both wistful viewers knew that it was a lying peace shown them by the Mirror of Erised.


	8. Chapter Seven: On the Placement of Wands

Charlie believed in getting on with things. He was not opposed to introspection, but you had not time to rethink your errors when you were in a saddle strapped to a Norwegian Ridgeback at forty feet and your harness was coming loose; in such a situation one simply had to proceed to live, or one would surely die. The young man felt similarly pragmatic about his mother's recent letter detailing Harry's "accident." Charlie did not know Potter very well, but he had always respected his head for flying—and he expected that the enchanted boy would soon be set to rights.

~*~

When Charlie arrived at the Burrow for Christmas, he was surprised to find the household in a flurry of leaving, rather than one of preparation.

"Mum, what's to do? Why are you packing?"

"Oh, my boy! Welcome home—now, go find Hermione and Ginny, and take the baskets in the front hall to . . . the place the girls say."

"But—"

"Charles Weasley, can't you see that I'm busy? _Scoot_."

"Well all right, then. 'Welcome home, Charlie. We missed you, Charlie'—"

"Shut up, Charlie!" laughed Fred from the stairs.

George appeared behind his twin. "Mum's gone mad. She says that if we don't get there soon, Remus will change all her plans."

"What plans?"

"We're having Christmas at Ree's place—at Sirius and Remus' place, I should say."

"When did _that_ happen?" Charlie asked, surprised.

"Well, said Fred, "near as we can figure, those two have a history—"

"No, you git. When did Mum decide to move Christmas? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Clearly," George said, grinning, "you're not that important."

"That's not true," Ginny said, running down the stairs to hug Charlie.

"Now that's more like it!"

"We need you to carry baskets."

"Walked right into that one, didn't you?" Hermione greeted Charlie.

The Twins, Ginny, and Charlie, each carrying something, followed Hermione to the fireplace. 

"Okay, we're flooing into the kitchen. Wait for me before putting anything away, all right?"

"Right you are, Mum," said Fred.

Hermione gave him a stern look.

"Wait 'till you see Ree," George said, making mounding motions with his hands over his chest. "OW!"

"George, don't you dare do that again!" Ginny yelled, her face nine shades of scarlet.

"Sorry, Gin, but you have to admit, it's still a little wild seeing it."

"Leave poor Ginny alone, you prat," Fred whispered.

In short order, they were all in Remus' kitchen taking orders from Hermione.

"Is that you guys?" called a slightly familiar voice.

"Yes, Ree," Hermione answered.

Harry walked into the kitchen, but stopped short as she saw Charlie. "Hi," she said, somewhat shyly.

Charlie tried not to gape. "Hello, Harry," he said, jovially.

"Um, oh, you can call me 'Ree' if you like," she mumbled.

"What's that? Charlie said, not having heard her over the din various members of his family were making.

"OW!" came a shout from behind him, and Charlie didn't know which of them it was, but Hermione was dragging one of the twins out of the kitchen with Ginny following behind her.

"That's me, the _mature_ twin," Fred said. He winked at Ree, and followed his brother and the girls from the room.

"Oh, get over it!" demanded Ron, who had just come through the fireplace to see his older brother and _Harry_ —for he refused to call his friend by her _Slytherin_ name— _Damn Blaise Zabini to the Four Great Hells_ —still staring at each other. 

Ron was tired of people staring at his best friend. It was not _proper_. It was not _right_. And it made him want to stare at her, so it had to be _stopped_. Ron's method of preventing inappropriate behavior toward Harry was more direct than Blaise's; one needed only to apply to Justin Finch-Fletchley for an explanation of his cut lip and swollen right eye to learn the approach Ron had begun to take.

"Come on, Harry, Mum says that those garlands had better be hung by the time she gets here. And you," Ron said, poking his brother in the chest, "are supposed to press your suit for tonight."

"Tonight?" Charlie asked.

"You'll see."

~*~

"—yes, I believe it _was_ Firesham who pioneered the use of Yellow Stripe albumen in Courage Class potions."

"Perhaps it was. I still think it's unacceptable to use their eggs for that purpose."

"Yet you sanction the training of dragons as battle animals? Come now, Mr. Weasley, surely that bespeaks an inconsistency in your thoughts on the matter of animal . . . rights."

"All right, you two. It's the Christmas season, and I don't want any fighting," Molly Weasley said, putting down a plate of cookies on the low table near where they stood. "Eat up! There are plenty more."

Severus groaned quietly. Charlie noticed, and laughed good-naturedly. He selected a sugar-crusted snowman, and nibbled at its waving arm.

"I think that you would probably want to avoid meeting a mama Yellow Stripe over her egg clutch. 'Animal rights' would take on a whole new meaning for you if you did."

"Actually, I prefer to bind my emotional enhancement preparations with other ingredients. The Yellow Stripe is becoming increasingly rare."

"I'm glad to hear it!" Charlie said jovially, and then lowered his tone somewhat. "Professor Snape, you aren't interested in my work, though I appreciate the opportunity to discuss it. What can I do for you?"

"As you are escorting Harry tonight, I thought I might—"

"Warn me to be on my best behavior?"

Snape pursed his mouth in irritation. "I expect that is unnecessary."

"It's kind of you to take note of the Weasley honor."

"I was referring to the conversations that you have no doubt already had with your mother and Remus."

"What about Sirius?"

"He's been waiting his turn for some time, Mr. Weasley."

Charlie glanced over his shoulder and found that the Animagus did indeed look impatient to speak to him, though he was trying his best to seem interested in whatever Arthur Weasley was saying. "Ah. Well, then, perhaps I won't interrupt you again."

"Thank you. As I recall from your time in my classes, that will be somewhat difficult for you."

Charlie said nothing, but looked as though he might laugh again. Snape pressed on.

"It is imperative that you make certain Potter is never alone with Lucius or Draco Malfoy."

"Didn't Lucius Malfoy save—"

Severus looked pointedly at Charlie until he nodded, eyes hardening at the thought of either of the Malfoys harming his brother's best friend.

"Harry does not like being nurse-maided, so endeavor to be discreet, Mr. Weasley."

"You can rely on me, Sir."

"Charlie, Harry's coming down!"

"Coming, Mum!" 

Sirius deftly caught the boy by his arm just before he would have left the room.

Charlie walked into the foyer just in time to see Harry come down the stairs, and was pleased with himself for being such an obedient son. Hello, _Girl-Who-Lives_. She was wearing a green dress that peeked out under a rather glamorous robe, and she had her hair bound up into a soft pile of curls cascading from a topknot on her head. _Well, it looks like I'll be fending off more admirers than Malfoys this evening_ , he thought, quite pleased by the incompetence of the St. Mungo medi-wizards in that moment.

~*~

Severus followed Charlie only as far as the door to the foyer, as that room was becoming rather crowded. He was furious with Albus for sending Harry into a dangerous situation without him. For what else could you call an evening of mingling with some of the most prestigious, pure-blooded wizarding families, many of whose members felt pre-disposed to approve of Voldemort and his activities? _Will she even think to carry her wand_? He looked at Weasley, and hoped that the young man had taken his warning seriously. Suddenly, Charlie's expression changed from one of polite attention to his father to that of deep appreciation for something at the top of the stairs, and Severus turned his attention there. He was momentarily confounded. _Perhaps Harry's going forth better prepared than I could have imagined._

~*~

Harry walked slowly down the stairs, feeling terribly nervous. What if Charlie wanted to dance with her? What if someone _else_ wanted to dance with her? What if _no one_ wanted to dance with her? What if she could not get to her wand quickly enough if she needed it? Would Draco be there? Blaise had not known.

_What if I fall on my arse walking down these bloody stairs? At least then I wouldn't have to worry about dancing_ . . . .

"You look lovely, dear," called Mrs. Weasley.

"Yes, indeed," Mr. Weasley affirmed.

Harry continued her stately descent. _Don't fall, don't fall, don't fall._

Just before she reached the foyer floor, she looked up at the sitting room door, hoping _not_ to see Sirius looking perturbed. He was the reason she'd avoided purchasing dresses; she did not want to do anything to make him feel weirder than he already did about the Change. Severus was there, instead, looking . . . tenebrously at her. She stumbled. Snape crossed the room and caught her around the waist before Charlie or the others could react.

_He moves faster than anyone I've ever seen_ , Harry thought, dazed by the press of the professor's body against her own. "It's the shoes," she murmured through her blush. "I don't think the people who make these things _like_ women."

"Perhaps women should not wear them, then," Snape murmured, sounding vaguely . . . amused.

Harry felt her mind empty itself of all thought as the Potions master set her firmly on her feet again. "If you say so," she breathed.

"Don't _start_ , Severus. It's taken me a long time to persuade her . . . ."

"Of course, Molly," he acknowledged without taking his eyes from Harry's face. He leaned down slightly to ask, "You _do_ have your wand, do you not?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Where?"

Harry paled. She was _not_ going to discuss the bizarre contraption that Hermione had insisted she wear to hold up her stockings, no matter its other uses. "Um, let's just say that if I need it, I'll be able to find it."

"I should hope so."

"Snape," said a voice from behind him, and the Potions master reluctantly released Harry into the care of Charlie.

"Yes, Black?"

"I've got a bottle of Warders in the kitchen to take the edge off our . . . _worries_ ," he admitted.

"Excellent." _Who would have thought you knew how to fetch a decent whiskey_?


	9. Chapter Eight: The Use of Knowledge

It had not bothered Charlie that his girlfriend had once been a boy, for the simple fact that she clearly was not male when he had begun to date her. Even Severus Snape had noticed _that_ fact. It also had not impressed him much that he had deflowered Ree; frankly, the girl had caught him by surprise so many times in their love-making by her unabashed enthusiasm and creative prolixity that they had taken to calling him Snitch.

" _You'd better catch me quickly before I tell all my friends about your . . . talents_ ," Charlie had teased Ree more than once. 

She had immediately sought out yet another of his weaknesses, and he had surrendered to her.

From what Ron had written in his letter, though, Charlie was not sure if Ree would _want_ him to touch her now. His brother had been vague, but it seemed clear that Malfoy had seriously mistreated Ree in some way, some _sexual_ way. Charlie was worried because his girlfriend had made it clear long ago that her relationship with Draco Malfoy was not a subject for discussion. He had accepted this stipulation at the time because he was not, by nature, a possessive man, and because a life-debt between two wizards was not something with which to interfere.

_Perhaps I'll have to rethink my approach to such matters_.

~*~

"I WILL KILL HIM! I WILL KILL _BOTH_ OF THEM!" Severus was screaming at the top of his lungs in Albus' office.

The headmaster was not present, but he had asked his Potions master, Sirius, and Remus to return to the school and wait there for him after the meeting, though the latter two men had not yet finished their own argument in the Gryffindor Common Room. As there were no students present in their old house because of the holidays, it had seemed like a good place to go to talk about Ree's situation—especially as Poppy had flatly refused to allow them into the Infirmary to speak to Blaise. That young man had been asked to report there by Dumbledore, who felt that the boy looked very badly off indeed. Alastor, Neville, and Viktor had remained at the novitiate.

"Sit down and shut up, Severus!" Minerva ordered, returning to the room. She was holding a piece of crisp parchment in her hand. "You'll wake the ghosts! You cannot interfere in the dealings between two wizards to conclude a life-debt, and well you _know_ it."

" _You_ do not know, Minerva—"

"Of _course_ I know, Severus," she told him, handing him the letter. 

It read:

> Dear Professor McGonagall,
> 
> I've thought about it, and I think you're wrong. Giving Draco what he needs might be enough to save him. I've got to try. I don't know what else to do.
> 
> I can't bear the thought of actually killing him, but if he doesn't stop fixating on me, he'll find a way to force my hand. Besides, I do owe him my life. If loving him will give him even a piece of his own back, what right do I have to refuse him?
> 
> Please try to understand.
> 
> With respect,
> 
> Ree Potter

Severus dropped the letter and rushed through various rooms to Albus and Minerva's bathroom. His violent retching reverberated throughout the suite.

Minerva looked up at the drawn face of Remus Lupin, who had just entered the room, and who was trailed by a shiny black dog. The dog whimpered and sunk to the floor. Lupin bent to retrieve the letter, read it, crossed to the fire, and threw it in.

"With your permission, of course," he said, turning to Minerva.

"Of course."

~*~

After leaving Dumbledore, Harry had left a message for Neville and Blaise with Rosmerta and traveled all night by broom to avoid being tracked on the Floo Network. She now stood before the matriarch of one of the oldest lines of pure wizard blood remaining in the world.

"I have something to offer you."

"What could that possibly be?" asked a seemingly apathetic Zoroastrid Zabini.

"Your dearest friend," the young woman stated, tossing a cold, white rune to the lady.

Tagliaferro caught it before it was halfway to his mistress and examined it before placing it on a silver tray that materialized into the air before her.

The lady of the house took up the rune and spun it in her fingers. "Sowelu. Wholeness."

"Yes."

"Are you implying that Narcissa has been . . . diminished in some way?"

"You will have noticed that Mrs. Malfoy has changed since her husband's death."

"That is not unusual."

"No," Harry said, waiting for the other woman to admit to what she already knew.

"Indeed, Narcissa has been bearing up well following dear Lucius' murder."

"It must be a great comfort for you to know that one of her dearly departed's friends continues to keep Mrs. Malfoy . . . company."

Zoroastrid wrinkled her nose in derision. Thinking about Gregory Goyle's fat hands on Cissa's body was more than she could bear. " _Enough_. What do you need from me in order to restore her?"

"The Grimoire Nigromantia."

Tagliaferro threw back his head and laughed deeply. " _There's_ a little light bedtime reading."

"Be good enough to retrieve that volume," Mrs. Zabini asked the vampire without taking her eyes off her guest. "Will you require anything else?"

"Only the merry widow, madam," Harry said with feigned nonchalance.

Zoroastrid poured a cup of tea and handed it to Ree, who did not insult her hostess by obtrusively verifying whether or not the blend was innocuous, though the older woman was certain the girl must have done so.

_Brava_! she thought. _It certainly is a shame about the blood running through your veins, witchling. You'd breed powerful babies for our line, but for that_ one _defect_.

_But for the extant weakness of your bloodline, I might have considered it_ , Harry thought.

~*~

The afternoon after Ree's "resignation" from the Order and her disappearance from Hogsmeade, Charlie found her in the over-grown garden behind the house at Godric's Hollow. She was wearing a black turtleneck and pants and the dragon-hide boots he had made for her as a graduation gift. Her short sword, which had been Professor Snape's gift to her, was propped in its ornate scabbard against the dilapidated wicker love seat in which she sat. From experience, Charlie knew better than to touch it.

"That's a weighty tome," he said casually, sitting down next to her.

Harry closed the book. "Charlie," she acknowledged him diffidently.

He reached a hand out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't let's be shy, love."

The book slid off her lap as she slid against Charlie's broad chest and buried her face into it.

"There now, Charlie's here to save you."

Harry pulled away and burst into brittle laughter. "You're here to _save_ me?"

Charlie bristled inwardly, but kept his temper. "I'm here for _you_."

"I'm _sorry_ , Snitch. I didn't mean to—"

"It doesn't matter. And don't be sorry. I don't need you to be."

"What _do_ you need?"

"How about a cuppa and a coze and then a candle to light us to sleep at the nearest inn? We can't very well sleep here, can we?"

"I'm actually half-thinking of sprucing this place up."

"Yeah?"

"I've got to live somewhere."

"Ron owled me about what happened. Want to talk about it?"

Harry did not want to lie to Charlie, but she knew she couldn't discuss her plans with him. "We have before. Why go into it again? I'm tired of waiting for people to act. I'm tired of people dying because we _don't_. We know what we ought to be doing, and if they _won't_ , then—"

"It's not like you to hide."

Harry bit back an angry retort. "No," she finally agreed.

"Ree, I know you've discharged your life-debt to Draco, and I'm glad because you shouldn't feel fettered by anything or anyone—no one should—but it isn't freedom to run away from your life."

Harry did not respond. _Oh, Snitch, please_.

"Is that what you're doing?"

"Would it be okay if I didn't tell you what I was doing?"

"Do you know?"

_Not completely. No._ "Yes."

"Good."

Harry allowed herself to relax against her boyfriend. I don't deserve you. "You smell really appalling, you know."

He laughed. "Let's get a room with a tub, then," he suggested, cursing himself as he felt his girlfriend stiffen. "I'll bathe, and you can get comfortable in the bed. . . . I won't—I wouldn't—"

Harry thought about the letters she had written earlier in the day. It had seemed too short, but now it seemed rather appropriate. "I know, Charlie." _And I hope you'll forgive me for what I have to do_.

~*~

Blaise sat in Harry's chair by Severus' fire. His former head of house had requested his presence yesterday, but the young Auror had not felt up to seeing him when the man's post-prandial summons had arrived in the infirmary the previous evening. He sipped his afternoon tea warily, hoping that the Potions master had not slipped him anything, such as Veritaserum.

Severus glared at Zabini, wishing he had a right to demand answers of the boy. He knew he did not; Harry's brief letter to Minerva had demonstrated that the young woman had gone to Draco of her own volition, but perhaps Blaise would not be clear on that point.

"I wish to know what occurred."

"That's really none of your business, professor."

_Damn_. "I could make it my business, _Apprentice_ Zabini."

"Do your worst, Snape. I will not betray Harry's confidence—or Draco's."

Severus had Blaise knocked over his chair and on the floor behind it before his guest's saucer shattered against the stones of the hearth. He pinned the boy to the floor with surprising strength and howled, "DON'T SPEAK TO ME OF _BETRAYAL_ , YOU COVETOUS BASTARD! TELL ME WHAT YOU _DID_ TO HER!"

Blaise knocked his head against Snape's as hard as he could and attempted to effect his release from the other man's grip by struggling. It did no good. He felt a menacing hiss vibrate against his neck.

"Do that again, and I'll rip your throat out.

Blaise felt the teeth. _How could I have missed_ that? "Thank you for the lesson."

Severus had released the boy and was standing on the other side of the sitting room before Blaise realized he was free. When no further attack was forthcoming, he stood up slowly and withdrew his wand.

"That will not be necessary."

"So you say. . . . Give me your word that you will not attack me again."

"I will not attack you again _tonight_ , Mr. Zabini."

Blaise smiled. "How very like a vampire to be so specific."

"I am _not_ a vampire."

"Those were fangs I just felt when you weren't happy to see me . . . Sir."

"Spare me your cleverness, but if I have aroused your interest, then perhaps we can trade information."

It was a long time before Blaise made his way back to the infirmary again.


	10. Chapter Nine: Defense, Vengeance, and Murder

"Get up, boy!"

"Master Moody. What is it?" Blaise asked, blinking from the light of the other man's wand.

"Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. I need every hand."

"Has Ree returned?" 

It had been almost a full week since the witch had gone missing, though Blaise thought that perhaps Professor Dumbledore might know where she was.

"No. Be quick about it, boy! People are dying."

~*~

And so people were, but not all of them the inhabitants of the village. 

Rosmerta sunk back into the shadows near the gate before the yard of the Three Broomsticks and waited. The bodies of four masked figures smoldering from the inside out littered the ground in her vicinity. 

When the large knot of hooded cowards had appeared in the street in front of her establishment and attempted to burn it, they had received a nasty shock, for Rosmerta had, over the years, treated every building in the town with a strong repulsion potion. 

_My village will not burn. Not again._

The alarm had been raised, and those who could not fight had hidden, while those who could had begun to hunt. The publican retracted her dripping claws a bit, stanching the flow of corrosive venom from them.

_Come to me, young ones. I have something for you._

~*~

Severus knew that he would not be needed near the Three Broomsticks, but the hospice at the other end of Hogsmeade would be fairly unprotected. As his spying activities had been greatly curtailed on the occasion of Lucius' death because many who that man had kept in check were suspicious of the Potions master's loyalties, it was now permissible for him to fight openly for the Order; and fight he would, despite Albus' protestations that he should keep a low profile.

_The time for caution is past._

The determined wizard apparated from just over the boundary of the school grounds into the thick of an ugly fight between Remus Lupin and several Death Eaters.

_Poor planning on your part_ , he thought, keeping well away from the werewolf. 

He was not certain if he was referring to himself or the Death Eaters. It was a relief to see that the latest version of the Wolfsbane potion was proving efficacious. Lupin appeared to be in total control of his actions. Still, he did not wish to test that observation.

Ill and aged wizards and witches peered affrightedly from the windows of the hospice, some of them casting spells to harry the attackers who were focused on Lupin. Severus helped them by stupefying several wizards close to him. A still-moving body was thrown in his direction, and Severus caught it in his left hand and snapped its neck effortlessly while stunning another warlock with his wand hand.

"Traitor!" shrieked a voice well-known to him from over his shoulder.

It was too late to turn around and deflect whatever spell Bellatrix intended to cast. 

_I did not even see it coming_ , Snape thought in detached irritation.

Death did not find him.

Instead, the Potions master heard the wet sound of a throat being ripped out. He turned in time to see that the hound standing over Lestrange was slick with blood and gore. It—Black—emitted a noise from his throat that was part growl, part ripping parts, but primeval in its level of communication: You're dead. I'm eating—grrrarghshphlick.

_Good dog._

~*~

The Widow Malfoy had been planning on spending her day much differently; however, when the message had arrived from Zoroastrid requesting she see and counsel a young friend of hers about the wisdom of marrying Blaise when it seemed that Draco had _also_ proposed, Narcissa could not resist.

Finally, _an opportunity to be alone with Potter._

It had taken some . . . persuasion to make Goyle leave her, but he had done so.

_He always_ did _enjoy the kill_ , the woman thought, arranging herself on a silken sofa in her private chambers. 

She was going to savor every moment of this latest experience.

"Madame, your guest has arrived."

"Send her up and lock the door on your way out. I won't be needing you again for several hours."

And then Harry was there, standing before her in blood-colored silk, but apparently otherwise unadorned and unarmed.

_Thank you, Salazar._

"Mrs. Malfoy, it was good of you to agree to see me."

"Don't be shy, my dear. Sit—please."

Harry sat a little too closely to Mrs. Malfoy on the couch. "I don't believe we've had occasion to see each other since the last affair at the Ministry."

"Yes, when Arthur Weasley took up the arduous task of . . . putting things to rights."

"Yes."

"What _is_ it, dear?"

"I was only thinking about how much the loss of _Mr_. Malfoy must have affected you."

The other woman's pert pink mouth unfurled into a slow smile. She allowed one arm to fall gracefully onto the girl's shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "I believe you were . . . _fond_ of my husband, Ree."

"Yes, and I believe you know that Draco gave me to him," Harry said, shifting against Draco's "mother" to look her in the eye. "Didn't he, Luscious?"

Mrs. Malfoy grinned a grin that had never been her own. _Well, if the girl_ suspects . . . . "You impudent little bitch," she said, pure pleasure ringing in her tone, "how _did_ you guess?" 

With that, "Narcissa" shimmered, stretched, and changed into the arrogant and triumphant figure of Lucius Malfoy.

"Severus' stupidity."

"Enlighten me."

"He described you as having been bled dry when he arrived, but I had only felt Draco's pain moments before he would have seen your body, so I knew that you had done _something_ clever."

"And it has been gnawing away at you, has it?"

"Mmm."

"Well, I _did_ promise you more sophisticated fare when you visited, and I am a . . . man of my word."

"That is excellent because I am a woman of _mine_."

"An unfortunate lack with which I will never reproach you when you are on your knees."

Harry extended her arms. "Come to me. I've waited too long for this."

Lucius narrowed his eyes slightly. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Oh, you're quite right." Harry said, sinking to the floor and shoved her arms out to her sides, her left one sliding under the sofa.

Lucius gave a deep-throated chuckle. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, though I see you need to be reminded as to form." He began to undress. "Stand again, girl. Stand, and let me see that body without all the lovely silk."

Harry obeyed him, though she did not drop her dress to the floor. She raked her eyes harshly over the form of the man before her. 

Lucius did not care for her expression, but decided to be patient with her. After all, his son's little . . . experiment had not occurred above a week ago. He could afford to break the girl in slowly. Now that the Dark Lord no longer paid him any heed, he had all the time for which a man—or a woman—could ask.

"Do not be coy, Cleo. I have been waiting for this a long time, as well."

"As you say." Harry dropped her gown, stepped back, and raised her wand in one fluid movement. " _Stupefy_!" she cried.

The look on Malfoy's face was most gratifying.

His visage retained the shocked expression, even thirteen hours later when the Aurors arrived to find that his head had been detached from his body.

~*~

Somewhere near the far end of Hogsmeade, Hermione Granger lay cold and stiff on top of the bloody body of the man she loved. A pregnant witch hovered over her, trying to convince her to come into the relative safety of her home, but had no success in persuading the younger woman to move.

"I'll look it _up_ , Ron. I'll look it _up_. There _has_ to be a book. I _know_ that there's a book. I'll figure out a way to _fix_ you. You'll be okay, I _promise_. Oh, please, _please_ —there _has_ to be a book . . . ."

It was in this state that Albus Dumbledore found the children. He knew that he did not have much time.


	11. Chapter Ten: Keeping Up Appearances

The legend of the Potter-Snape duel was taking incredible shape in the minds of the children as they gossiped over steaming mugs of mulled cider at the Three Broomsticks. The excitement of the day was growing with each retelling to Rosmerta of its events.

"Tell me more," the bar owner urged Parvati Patil, who needed no further encouragement.

Lee Jordan was just reenacting Snape's dramatic final lunge at Harry when the girl in question and the Potions master walked into the pub.

Silence fell, as did Lee—with a hard smack on the floor as Seamus found himself petrified with fear in the face of a very angry looking professor.

Severus stepped neatly over Jordan and swept to the back of the establishment, taking the last table before the door to Rosmerta's private rooms.

"Hello," Harry greeted the publican, trying to ignore various whispered questions.

In a carrying voice, the other witch said, "I've just heard from your friends how very effective your demonstration was, Miss Potter. Take these two on the house."

A rare spark of gratitude flared in Harry's breast for Rosmerta, and she took the two steaming tankards of hard cider to a sulking Severus.

"Professor?" she asked, sliding a drink toward him.

Snape glared at the girl, but accepted the cider.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment.

"Um, Sir?"

"What is it, Potter?"

"I think we're supposed to be keeping up appearances here, and if you don't stop glowering like that—"

"'Glowering'? I do not 'glower'."

Harry snorted. "Sure you do. It's what you're best at."

"And what makes you think that you are in a position to know at what I am best?"

Harry was not actually sure what the professor meant by that, but she did not care for his tone. She was still feeling slightly unwell, but the anger spreading outward from the pit of her stomach gave her the strength to attack again, at least verbally. 

" _You're_ the one who started it, you unreasonable bastard."

"Language, Potter."

"Civility, Snape," she said, raising her voice more loudly than intended. Out of the corner of her eye, she just caught sight of Hermione holding back Ron before leaning toward the Potions master and hissing, "You didn't have to threaten to hex Justin for touching me. I was handling it."

"On the contrary, by your own admission, _he_ was handling it!"

"Yes, well, it's nice that _someone_ is."

Severus stood up and sent his chair skidding backward.

Inexplicably, Harry laughed. _Chew on that idea for awhile, you jealous prat_. "I'll have another, too, Professor Snape. Thanks!" she sang out brightly.

The Potions master crossed the pub with quick, long, angry strides and slammed his palm down on the bar. "Two more, Madame Rosmerta."

"There _must_ be a poem to explain this situation," the witch teased him.

"I hate you," Snape breathed.

Rosmerta favored him with a grin. "My door is always open."

Severus leaned into the bar. "Merta, don't provoke me."

"Russ, go be good." _Later, you may be as bad as you would like to be._

Harry watched the way Rosmerta's fingers caressed Severus' hands as she released two new tankards to him. Suddenly, her mirthful face took on a murderous cast.

"Ain't you a goer!" Fred Weasley said jovially, startling the young witch out of her chair.

"Calm down, Potter!" George laughed, pushing Harry back down into her seat. "What're you drinking? I'll get you another. Fred'n'I just heard about it."

"Did you indeed, Mr. Weasley."

Fred clapped the man on the back as he greeted him. "Hullo, Professor Snape. Am I in your seat? Yeah? Oi! Jordan! Grab some chairs and come over here. Snape and Ree are going to tell us all about it."

_Which of the Four Great Hells is_ this? Severus wondered. 

However, he had to admit, after about an hour or so of spinning an increasingly elaborate tale of dueling club plans with Harry's ever-more-intoxicated assistance, that it was . . . agreeable to be at the center of so much good-natured attention. His only concern was the way that Harry's eyes faded into bleakness whenever they caught his own.

~*~

When Severus finally made it back to his chambers in the early hours of the next morning, it was to find a ruffled and impatient looking Hedwig waiting for him on the coat rack by the threshold. She dropped a folded piece of parchment into his hand and flew out the still-open door.

> Dear Professor Snape,
> 
> I have appreciated your patience and hospitality these past months, but fear to trespass on your goodwill any longer. Please find that I've had my belongings moved to the Girls' Dormitory of Gryffindor House, and that your kitchen has been restored to its original state. I'm certain that working out a schedule for future D.D.C. planning meetings will be easy enough to arrange now that we are colleagues.
> 
> With gratitude,
> 
> Ree Potter

Dobby was just collecting little balls of paper from all over Harry's cold, empty room when Severus threw open the door.

Oh! Professor Snappy! I mean, Snape, Sir! Dobby is just tidying—"

"GET OUT, AND _LEAVE_ THAT MESS WHERE IT LAYS!"

The startled house elf disappeared in alarm, and Severus frantically gathered every last piece of crumpled parchment from the polished wooden floor and thick rugs of the room.

Each one was a variation on the same theme.

_No. No, no, no, no, no_! Severus thought as he shredded each letter in turn. "Please, Harry, please don't leave me alone like this," he said, sinking to the floor. "I'll be good. I _promise_."

He was shaking so hard he could not have cried, even if he had remembered how.

~*~

"I tell you, Albus, we cannot leave them alone together any longer— _something_ will happen!" Minerva asserted emphatically, storming back and forth in the headmaster's office later that morning.

"'Something' has already happened, my dear, as we both knew it _would_." _And I am sorry for it, my boy_.

Nurse-maiding prophecies was a hateful business, Albus reflected while attempting to calm Minerva.

~*~

Sirius looked up from Harry's letter. "Well, _this_ is excellent news, Remus. She must be feeling better if she has moved out of the dungeons."

_Idiot_ , the other man thought, smiling at his oblivious lover and scraping his toast roughly while trying not to envision Severus Snape out alone under the full moon. _If you've touched her, ol' Sevvie, I'll eat your_ fingers _first_. The werewolf was suddenly very tired. Parenting was exhausting. "Going back to bed, love," he mumbled.

"Do you want company?

"No."

Sirius frowned, but did not worry too much about it. Remus had his moods. Besides, his partner had left him a lovely looking piece of almost-unburnt toast, which he happily popped into his mouth.

It was only on Harry's first day home for the spring holiday that Sirius began to worry that something might be up with his goddaughter. Her reading material was worrisome: _poetry_ , about _love_ , and worse, it all seemed to be concerned with the unrequited variety of that feeling. That night after she had gone to bed, he broached the topic with Remus.

"I think Harry has a thing for Ron, Moony."

"Yes, I'm sure _that's_ the problem."

"I hope not."

"Why? What's wrong with Ron?"

"Nothing. He's perfect for Harry—handsome, fun, loyal, and _tall_."

Both men laughed.

"Then why don't you hope for it?"

"Because I'd rather not have Harry murdered in her sleep by Hermione Granger."

"A point to Padfoot," Remus said, toasting the other man with an invisible tankard.


	12. Chapter Eleven: The Repercussions of Failure

A violent altercation escalated into what sounded to be a particularly brutal fight outside of Harry's inn door. She seized her wand, threw open her door, and discovered two drunks beating each other mercilessly.

_It's almost dawn. Shouldn't you be sleeping_? " _Soberius Somnius_!" I _should be sleeping_.

The men fell like stones. Harry slammed shut her door.

Having left Lucius Malfoy like an unwrapped Christmas gift for the Ministry, all she wanted to do was sleep.

She knew she was not alone the instant she warded her door.

" _Disconcelarus_!" she cast, making a sweeping motion with her wand.

The tall, invisibility cloaked figure of Severus Snape became visible across the room by the window. He removed the temporarily useless garment, and proceeded to fold it carefully.

"Apprentice Potter."

"Don't you mean 'miss'? And is that _my_ cloak?"

Severus placed the cloak on a chair behind him. "The headmaster insists that your status as a novice remain intact, despite . . . recent developments, and yes, I took the liberty of borrowing your cloak so that I might have a quiet journey."

"Have they found him?"

The Potions master stiffened. "Whom do you mean?"

"Lucius Malfoy. I left him for the Aurors hours ago," Harry said matter-of-factly as she pulled a robe on over her nightgown.

Her long braid left a watermark on the fabric of her gown, and Severus made particular note of the fact that the water from her recent bath appeared to be clear.

"Indeed, Lucius Malfoy has been found."

"I know that I probably shouldn't have left him in such a state, but I was angry."

"What state?"

Harry propped up pillows against the headboard of her bed and leaned into them, apparently exhausted. 

"You look rather awful. Please, sit down."

"I'm perfectly well, Harry. Thank you. What state?"

The young woman furrowed her brow. "Are you all right, Professor? What's happened?"

"Harry, tell me that you did not kill him, and I shall believe you."

She sprung up from the bed. "What's going on? I left Lucius Malfoy naked and stupified on the rug before the hearth in his wife's bedchamber. What do you mean, 'tell me that you did not kill him'?"

Severus allowed his shoulders to relax somewhat, but the tension seemed to migrate to his spine. _Naked and stupified_. "Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt discovered the remains of Lucius Malfoy not long after you owled them, Harry. The Ministry has issued a . . . request that you report for questioning."

"The 'remains'? What are you talking about? He's _dead_? And they want to arrest _me_ for it?"

"No. You are merely being requested to present yourself to assist in a Ministry enquiry. Arthur Weasley was most firm on that point, despite the burden this day has proved to be for him."

"What? There have been more attacks? And are you—are you here because you think that I—"

"No! I am here to ascertain what occurred, and I did not wish to draw attention to your whereabouts to those with whom I am in disagreement. I _believe_ you, Harry."

"So, you're not here to arrest me?"

"If I swear to you that I will not force you to return with me, will you put away your wand?"

"Will you put away your own?"

"Shall we say on the count of three?"

"Merlin's beard, Snape—just take the bloody thing!" Harry exclaimed, as she thrust her wand at him and sat down on the bed.

Severus placed Harry's wand next to his own on the bedside table closest to him, and also sat down. Neither spoke for some moments.

"I had Mrs. Zabini's assistance, Professor. She can tell you that we _did_ take some of Lucius' blood, but only to break the ward he'd placed on his tomb."

"I do not understand."

"It's where he's been keeping his wife."

"Dead?"

"Enchanted sleep. The glamour that made her appear to be her butchered husband some months ago was easy enough to dispel. Mrs. Zabini assisted me with an incantation that melted it right off.

_So you say_ , he thought, feeling like the worst fool. "Glamour _has_ always been a favored weapon of the Malfoys. Did Draco know?"

"No. I never told him of my suspicions. Draco's always been . . . funny about his father."

_That is one way to put it_. "I was actually referring to knowing how his father had chosen to hide from Lord Voldemort."

"You can't possibly believe that after . . . after what his father did to him that Draco would have been in any way disposed to—"

Severus ignored her. Perhaps it was not unreasonable that he had failed to perceive his old friend's trick. _You're still defending the boy after what he did to you_. "We'll need to resolve the issue of his murder quickly. There are those who will not rest until you pay for it."

"So, everyone _does_ think it was me."

"Many do, given your . . . defection from the ranks of the Order. The feeling is that you have gone rogue."

"That sounds like something Shacklebolt would say."

"It was."

"I can hardly blame him."

"There are also members of other factions who will wish for your death, believing as they may that you've killed Lucius."

"Plenty of people want me dead. What're a few more?" 

Harry looked at Snape and saw sadness dimming his features. 

"I apologize. You must feel as though all of your efforts to keep me safe have been wasted."

Severus reached for Harry across the bed, and then dropped his arm suddenly.

Harry decided that she could not bear the loss of Severus' touch a moment longer. She needed comfort badly. She needed him. She would take whatever he would give her. 

"Here," she managed to say clearly. "Come here. It's freezing, isn't it?" 

She scooted up to lean into the headboard, drawing Snape up to lean next to her, and laying her head on his chest.

He did not protest, but gingerly enfolded the girl in a chaste embrace. _Harry_ . . . . "I'm in no position to judge you."

"Come now, you can't possibly be serious, Professor. Where is the lecture on 'rash acts leading to ruin'?"

"You have never responded well to lecturing."

"No."

"And you were right about Narcissa."

"Yes," she responded, pulling herself more firmly against his side, needing the warmth.

"Harry . . . ."

_Severus_. "Professor?"

Severus was not certain what it was that he wanted to ask. He was not certain that he wanted to hear the answers to anything he _might_ ask. He only knew that, despite the fact that the world was falling apart, he could not think past the woman lying next him on the bed. He knew she could not possibly love him, but he had her friendship and affection, and that was worth a great deal more than he deserved.

_And it is more than I have ever offered_ you. _I should have been there to protect you from him, from both of them._

Any thought Harry might have spared for Charlie faded as she felt Severus yield against her. They never spoke of it, the tension between them. They never acknowledged it in any way, even when they were trying to kill each other—or after. 

She remembered the aftermath of her kiss with Ron. Harry had decided to ask Severus if she could come back to live in the dungeons. She had wanted to put Hermione's mind at ease, and she found that she missed the rhythm of her life with the Potions master. She had found him in the Astronomy tower, thinking, and he had smiled, really smiled, in answer to her request. Flustered, she had remarked on the beauty of the evening, and he had conjured several large cushions. They had sat and talked for hours.

It had felt like a date.

But it had been more comfortable than a romantic outing, even when she had awoken just before dawn to find that she was wrapped in the man's arms. 

_I don't know if you love me, but I don't_ care, she thought, taking solace in Severus' nearness once again.

She knew that the man thought of her as a . . . friend, and perhaps, as time was growing short, it would be enough.

"Lucius Malfoy—I didn't allow him to touch me."

Severus tensed as if to pull away.

"I don't have to read your mind to know what you're wondering."

Severus allowed Harry to draw him back into her arms.

"But you allowed Draco to . . . ."

"I don't want to discuss it—just know that I wouldn't have done . . . what I did if there had been any other way of being free of him."

"Free to kill him if it came to that, you mean."

"Yes," replied Harry, though that wasn't what she had meant at all. 

"And . . . Mr. Zabini?"

"Blaise was there because I was afraid to go to Draco alone."

_Oh, gods_. "I've failed you, Harry."

"No, Severus. I was never yours _to_ fail."

Snape seized hold of Harry so tightly that she thought she would lose consciousness, but she did not struggle.

_Take what you need_ , she offered silently.

Severus released her and stood up. "No. You owe me nothing."

"But—"

"Harry, I have something that I must tell you. Hogsmeade was attacked . . . ."

~*~

The first thing Harry saw when she appeared in the street was Hermione. She was staring at a bloody patch of ground. Molly Weasley, tears streaming down her face, was gently urging the girl to come away with her.

"Harry!" Sirius called, running toward her.

She allowed her godfather to hug her, but never took her eyes off her friend.

"She's been here for hours. None of us can persuade her to leave."

"Where's Ron?"

"We don't know," Remus answered.

"And Albus?" Snape asked.

Sirius looked at the Potions master without his customary expression of distrust and dislike. "Hermione said that he took Ron's bo— _Ron_ . . . away, but we don't know where."

"Mione?" Harry asked gently, walking over to her friend. 

She did not respond. 

"Molly?"

"Oh, _Ree_. My boys. My little boys."

" _Boys_?"

"My Ron and my Percy. They've gone."

"I didn't know that Percy—"

"Someone tried to kill Arthur, and Percy—"

"Oh, _no_ ," Harry cried, clutching Molly, who began to sob.

Hermione made no movement or sound at all.

_She needs me_ , thought Harry, pulling away from Molly and asking, "Would you allow Remus to take you to Fred and George's?"

"Will you take care of Hermione? I should go to Arthur."

Remus was there without being asked. "Molly, I'll bring Arthur to you."

"But you'll take care of Hermione," insisted Mrs. Weasley to Harry.

"Always."

Remus led Molly away. Without looking up, Hermione spoke in a low voice that only Harry could hear.

"I'm pregnant. I'm going to give Ron a son."

"But you and Ron—"

"Were waiting? . . . We got impatient."

"When?"

"The night Viktor brought you home."

_A week ago_? "Hermione," Harry asked carefully, not certain how the shock of losing Ron had taken her friend, "how can you know that you're pregnant?"

An ugly laugh ripped its way out of Hermione's throat. "It's all right there, Harry, in his blood, on the ground. It's all right there."

"Severus didn't tell me how he died."

"Strangled."

_This isn't happening. This is_ not _happening_. "Then . . . then where did the blood come from?"

"I can't tell you that. It's a secret."

Harry pulled Hermione into a fierce hug. She didn't care about the details. Ron _couldn't_ be dead. They would figure it out later. They would _find_ him later. But Hermione needed her now. 

No, _Hermione needed you hours ago, and you weren't there for her. You_ failed _her. You failed_ Ron. "I won't fail your son, Hermione, I promise you," Harry whispered into her friend's hair. "Ron's son will grow up safely. I _swear_."

~*~

When Harry walked into her room at the novitiate, Neville was waiting for her. "Longbottom," she acknowledged him without surprise.

"Malfoy's dead?"

"You _know_ that Lucius is dead."

"I'm speaking of Draco."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"An important part of our plan calls for knowing exactly where every Death Eater is at all times."

"So I recall. Must we discuss this now?"

"Do you have a preferred time in mind, Potter?"

When the witch didn't respond, Neville spoke to her rather more sharply. 

"Right. That's _not_ how you'll behave. We have things to _discuss_."

"Prophecy business."

"However galling to you it may be, yes."

"I don't know where Malfoy is, Neville. I don't care. I . . . I need to figure out how to find Ron."

_We don't have time for shock_ , the young Auror thought angrily. "Ron is dead, and _nothing_ is going to bring him back. _Nothing_ is going to heal Hermione. _Nothing_ is going to make you feel any less guilty about his death, _ever_ —except perhaps killing those who are responsible for it."

"Sirius _ate_ the one responsible for it."

"No. Thomas Riddle still lives."

Harry, who had been leaning against the back of her closed door with her head lowered, snapped it up quickly at Neville's use of Voldemort's given name. Neville's . . . confidence—for Harry had no other name for it—had surfaced and championed his every emotion since the slaughter of his parents at St. Mungo's their seventh year at Hogwarts, but she had never heard him sound so . . . _dauntless_ before.

"Steady on, Neville. It wouldn't do to become reckless."

"What would you suggest? Despondence? Cringing in fear because something awful might happen? Conjuring up the same failure repeatedly in your mind of a night to prove to yourself of your own worthlessness? _Are_ you planning to add a second feature to your nightly entertainment, Potter?"

" _Sod you_ , Neville."

"Apparently not," the tall, broad, resolute young man standing before her said in an unflinching tone.

Neville had spell-sought Harry's wand before she could wrap her furious fingers around it properly, and had pinned her back against the door by the time his fellow novice realized that she was defenseless.

_I apologize for that. And for the rest_. "This won't do, Potter. You're _supposed_ to be the hero."

" _You're_ supposed to be kind."

"I _am_ being kind. What sort of friend allows another to wallow in grief when there's work to be done?"

"Am I not to have _some_ time," Harry asked, yielding to Neville as her tears began to fall, "to mourn Ron?"

In an oddly tranquil tone, Neville replied, "No. . . . It's _time_."

~*~

Neville placed the last of the items he felt he might need into a small satchel on his bed, and glanced around his room.

He had tidied up and made parcels of those few belongings he wanted other people to have. He laughed lightly as he placed Parkinson's silk-swathed wand—which he had "liberated" from her during the Great Potter-Snape Duel—inside of Trevor's old cage. The irony of the packaging would be lost on Pansy, and he regretted that he would miss the resultant furious sex that the receipt of such a gift would inspire in his ill-natured girlfriend.

The knife care kit that would have gone to Ron, he had included with the tiny volume entitled, _A Boke of Mercifful Enchantments_ , by Phlebitus Shphickus in a package that was meant for Blaise. 

Neville had left Ron's name on the kit. He had not forgiven Zabini for tucking his tail between his legs and abandoning his partner after the last Order meeting.

_Blaise should have fought to stay. He should have been here to fight at Ron's side when the attack came._

But the would-be Auror had not been there for Ron, and Neville never wanted Blaise to forget what had been the consequences of his failure. 

_"It isn't like you to be vindictive, Neville,"_ he heard his grandmother's voice echo in his mind.

"Shut up, you daft old bat."

Having put the rest of his things in order, he had one last task. Drawing a shaky breath, he turned to the wall over his bed. Hundreds of tiny pieces of paper fluttered against the wall, just like butterflies. On some, black, incomprehensible scrawl crossed their "wings," but on others, on the ones whose patterns bled onto the pieces next to themselves, bold silver calligraphy shone clearly from the shivering sheets. 

It was Ron who had suggested that the lunar script looked like language.

It was Hermione who had proposed that the language might be darkly sorcerous in origin when nothing like it could be found in her thorough perusal of the restricted section of the library.

It was Blaise who had recognized the language; he had seen the same markings in a large book from which he had been read to as a child.

It was Harry who had procured the necessary volume that the language might be translated and the spell completed—though she and Neville had not told the others how far they had progressed.

And it was Neville who would see to it that the language on the little sheets—his parents' legacy—was conjured.

"Be seeing you soon, Mum and Dad," he promised, as he let himself out of his cell.

The little scraps of paper lay silently in Ron's otherwise empty basket.

~*~

Harry dropped her satchel just inside the door of her room in the dungeons. There was a blaze crackling merrily in the fireplace, and a plate of food had been left next to a flagon of something to drink on the small table by her hearth. Of Severus, there was no sign, but she knew that he would return soon enough. She sat down and picked at her food. It was the first she had touched in almost three days.

Hermione, she had taken to the Burrow and put into bed. All of the Weasleys had followed her soon after, exhausted and soul-sick. With Ron dead, she had felt like a visitor—a burden—an intruder—so she had wrapped herself in the memory of the hugs she had received from her godfather and her heartfather and then left for home.

_I wish I had told Remus about my nickname for him_ , she thought, feeling guilty.

Though she knew it hurt Sirius and Remus, she had never been able to call the house at Grimmauld Place home, and the untidy cottage in Godric's Hollow was nothing but a place to keep secrets and memories that were not really her own. Looking around her bedroom in Severus' suite, she was not certain that she belonged in _it_ , either. 

_My only true home seems to be within the lines of a prophesy_.

But even that position, since the Change, was not secure.

This was precisely why Neville Longbottom would be with her when she walked out to meet what the two of them had elected as _their_ destiny. The Aurors had told no one of their plan to defeat the Dark Lord and his minions all at once for several reasons: One, it did not concern anyone else. Two, they had only recently figured out where they could find the text they needed to help them decipher Neville's parents' message to him. Three, Harry had only just discovered a way to prevent _every_ bearer of the Dark Mark from being bound to the spell she intended to cast. And four, they were only going to use the spell as a last resort, as it would require Harry's, and possibly Neville's, death in order to seal it.

It seemed clear to both of them that there was no longer any time; Albus had told Harry that Death Eaters leading squads of giants or dementors or hags were arranging themselves on the nodes where the Ley Lines intersected all over Britain, and that their attacks were spilling into the Muggle world. Whatever Voldemort was planning was at hand. It was time to act.

Harry had time to eat, bathe, and change, and then she would need to collect her last ingredient for the ritual. Her farewell letters and final documents were already in Dobby's keeping, as she had found the house elf before returning to her room.

_It's surreal to be preparing to die while eating tomatoes_ , Harry thought while cutting into one of the Yellow Perfections that gilded her plate.

It tasted like sunshine, and reminded her of all of the experiences for which she was grateful.

She hoped that she would be able to give the people she loved some peace through her passing.

She hoped it was not selfish to want some peace for herself, as well.


	13. Epilogue

"Welcome, my young acolyte, to your rightful place by my side."

Draco Malfoy, begored and benumbed, stepped out of the circle of Death Eaters and removed his mask. He had not been able to find his robes before fleeing his home. His father's body—his _father's_ body—had been all over his mother's room. He did not understand it. He thought he should, but he did not. He had only known the call of the Dark Lord, and so had come to join him, even though what he most wanted at the moment was to fall into a sleep from which it did not matter if he ever awakened.

"Gregory Goyle," Voldemort called.

"My Lord?" that man asked, stepping forward and also removing his mask.

"Does young Draco know that you were responsible for the . . . horrific death of his father?"

Something inside of Draco snapped awake. He turned slowly to face the other man.

"No! It was Potter! _She_ killed him."

"You dare to lie to me? If not for my profound shock," the wizard said sarcastically, "I would be very angry, very angry, indeed. But perhaps our young man does not care that you butchered his sire. Perhaps he is grate—"

An awful sound like a wet cotton zipper being opened reverberated in the ears of those present. And Voldemort laughed over the screams of one of his followers as he was ripped apart by another's force of will.

"You've grown strong."

"Through your tutelage, my Lord," Draco answered.

"Soon, it will be a pleasure to see what _else_ you have learned."

Malfoy turned his blank, glittering eyes to Voldemort.

" _Scourgify_!" his master ordered.

And suddenly Draco felt clean again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Happy Anniversary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9093052) by [iulia_linnea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iulia_linnea/pseuds/iulia_linnea)




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